


Leading the Blind

by futsch



Series: Hero, Event, Prophecy [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, It's a sequel, M/M, and it's gonna be LONG, hope you're ready for the long haul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2018-05-27 05:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6271087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futsch/pseuds/futsch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dragonborn has not been seen in Skyrim for two years. Vampires are terrorizing the west and slowly making their way east. They rule the night and, with the land divided politically after the Civil War, no effort has been made to stop them. Worse, the war also weakened Skyrim such that the Thalmor are becoming more aggressive...especially since they too want the Dragonborn. Sissel, a young woman who's never left Rorikstead, goes off to find the Hero of Skyrim in the desperate hope that the vampires can be stopped. Unbeknownst to Sissel, bringing the Dragonborn back to Skyrim is going to be the source of even more problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sissel

_All candles must go out at some point.  
_ \- the Dragonborn, 4th Era

            _I can do this._

            My hand clenched so tightly around the rough strap of the knapsack that my knuckles turned white. Father lay sleeping in his room, his drunken snoring carrying through the house like a familiar lullaby. Britte, my twin sister, followed his lead. At eighteen, father had expected both of us to have been married by now. Britte spent her time doing odd jobs around Rorikstead. And me… well.

            I was always the disappointment, wasn’t I?

            The thought stung me _just_ enough to make me consider not leaving. My father and sister needed me. He was a drunk. Britte? My sister, my mirror. Strangely, we’d never connected. Since I was young, I’d had my own image beating me, berating me. Father’s fists were bad enough but Britte’s were worse only because it was like watching myself hurt me. Every horrible insecurity I’d held came true each time she yelled and slapped because it was my mouth saying those things, my hands leaving bruises on my face and my arms. My fingers found a fresh, painful blossom on my forearm. The bright purple and blue would have been lovely on a dress, but on my ruddy skin they were a horrible match.

            The bruise jarred me back into my resolve. Not looking back, I carefully opened the door leading outside just enough that I could slip into the cool, early morning air. I’d done this enough to know that just before the door closed again, there’d be an annoying creak. There was nothing I could do about it except pray to Akatosh that father and Britte wouldn't hear it. The consequences this time would be far worse than any beating I’d ever received but the risk I was undertaking was worth it. Weeks ago, I’d made the decision to do this. Jouane gave his support but also voiced his concerns.  
            “Sissel, dear. I know that you want to find her but Skyrim isn’t safe. You know that in the past year talk of vampires has been rampant. Luckily, Rorikstead has been safe but traveling to Whiterun? For certain there’s been talk of disappearances there.”

            “You said yourself that the Dragonborn has been gone just as long. Without her, we’re little more than cattle to them! That’s why _someone_ needs to find her,” I attempted to reason.

            Jouane frowned. “My girl, the Dragonborn is a wild animal. Kynareth, bless the sky and air we breathe, can’t even chain her down. From what I’ve gathered, several Jarls have already talked to both Ulfric Stormcloak and Elisif the Fair. You think you could do better than the resources those two have at their disposal?”

            It wasn’t the first time we’d had similar conversations, but this time I was serious about leaving. And maybe I wasn’t _completely_ honest about my motives. Skyrim _did_ need the Dragonborn but I needed her too. Biting my lip, I shook my head. “I don’t know. But I have to try.”

            A few nights ago, all of those words had sounded good. So good that I’d convinced myself that I could travel across Skyrim to find Rook. But now, the idea that I alone could take on such an endeavor made the prospect overwhelming. Regardless, I took in a deep breath of crisp air and watched the sun creep over the horizon. Jouane had helped arrange for a carriage to come through Rorikstead this morning, supposedly for trade.

            “There will be trade, sort of,” he’d muttered.

            I’d been studying magic with him since I was young. Our secret meetings had sometimes been interrupted by the Dragonborn herself slipping in silently, dressed in clothing and boots that made no sound. Jouane never told me outright but I highly suspected that Rorikstead benefited from Thieves Guild dealings. Or at least they left us alone as long as Jouane kept them happy. I made the guess that things would be better if I didn’t ask a lot of questions.

            As quickly as my feet could carry me, I met the empty porch of the Frostfruit Inn. No one was ever awake at this hour, not even the fastidious farmers over at Cowflop. Despite that, I couldn’t help but pace around, biting my bottom lip. My heart was going to fly out of my chest at this rate. My only chance at starting this journey was depending on this carriage arriving before the sun spread across Nirn. If Rorikstead woke up before it arrived, I’d be stuck here for certain. Father and Britte would no doubt keep me prisoner in my own home. No more lessons with Jouane, no visiting the shrine to Akatosh a little ways outside of Rorikstead. No chance of finding Rook.

            So I paced.

            I counted to one hundred.

            Silently, I prayed first to Akatosh and then to Kynareth.

            Every time my foot met the wood, the blood in my veins reminded me of what I was feeling, quickly coursing through me and making my heart fly at speeds that were surely unnatural.

            The sun seemed to climb into the sky faster than usual but just as it began to touch Rorikstead, I heard the divine sound of horse hooves clopping along the hard, dirt road. Wasting no time, I ran toward it. The driver pulled back on the reins and didn’t miss a beat.

            “You’re the girl?” The brown stubble around his mouth couldn’t hide his sleeplessness.

            “Yes, yes!” Jumping in the back of the carriage, I settled in. The driver kept looking at me expectedly. Was I in the wrong place? I’d never been in a carriage before. Maybe I was supposed to sit further back?

            “It’s twenty to Whiterun,” he explained flatly.

            “Oh, right! Gold.” I dug around and pulled out a few Septims. “Sorry.” He took the money but the hot blush wouldn’t leave my cheeks so easily. How stupid of me. Of _course_ this wasn’t a free trip. Just because Jouane had pulled a few strings didn’t mean I was allowed to run all over Nirn. I made a note to keep track of my funds. While Jouane had supplied me with a hefty sack, I’d been saving a gold piece here and there for years now. Between the two of us, I’d be leaving Rorikstead with two hundred Septims.

            _One hundred eighty,_ I reminded myself.

            Just like that, we were off and I was leaving my home and my family behind.  

            Off to find the Dragonborn.

* * *

 

            The three books Jouane had given me to practice more advanced magic with were not doing me much good on the road. Every bump we hit reminded me of my sore bottom which made it difficult to concentrate. Not exactly ideal conditions for a hopeful mage. Instead, I’d passed the time by talking with Virk, the driver.

            “Do you go to Whiterun often?”

            He shrugged. “Often enough. Vampires are making it hard to travel reliably at night.”  
            It was surprising to hear about vampires from someone other than Jouane. A small stone fell into the pit of my stomach. Hearing about it from someone who’d been all over only made the threat seem more real. I came to a horrifying realization.

            “ _We_ won’t be trapped on the road at night, will we?” My voice hitched slightly.

            Virk laughed heartily. “How far away do you think Rorikstead is from Whiterun? There’s not a direct road but we’ll be there right at sundown with any luck. We’re almost finished on the south road, soon we’ll be heading back eastward.”

            Jouane had given me a map of Skyrim. It was neatly rolled up in my bag but when I tried to unroll it, the edges kept creeping back to where they were comfortable. Just as I thought I had finished fiddling around with it so that it would cooperate, we hit another bump. I yelped in slight pain, my hands lost the map, and it snapped back into a nice roll. I grumbled.

            This prompted more laughter from Virk. “You don’t do this sort of thing often, do you?”

            I sighed. “No.” Brushing a strand of blonde hair out of my face, my hands went back to work trying to coax the map out of its bundle so that I could orient myself.

            “I don’t usually ask questions from the third party who pays me to run around Skyrim, but you don’t seem the type to be involved in anything underhanded. What’s got you out of Rorikstead?”

            My fingers delicately made soft folds at the edges so that the ends would stay uncurled but not be creased too badly. “I… um… it’s a long story.”

            “I think we’ve got time.”

            Hesitating again, I weighed my trust in this driver. No doubt about it now, he probably worked for the Thieves Guild in some capacity. But, then again, Rook had probably convinced Jouane to trust _them_.

            Well, if by “convinced,” one means “threatened.” And if by “trust them,” one means “let them run a trade system of fenced goods across Rorikstead.”

            I trusted no one more than Jouane and I’d trust Rook with my life—in fact I literally had on at least one or two occasions when dragons came attacking the village. Surely, a little bit of thievery wasn’t _that_ big of a reason not to tell Virk why I was traveling.

            “I’m going to find the Dragonborn and—”

            “HA! The Dragonborn?” He looked back over his shoulder to watch my face. “Girl, the whole of Skyrim’d like to know where she is right now. No one’s seen hide or hair of her in at least two years.”

            Finally, the map cooperated. “I know but I have to try!” I leaned over so that my shoulders draped over the driver’s seat so that I could look up at Virk. “It doesn’t seem like anyone else has had any success. I know her! When I was a child, she taught me some magic.” Not _exactly_ a lie, but every word out of my mouth was sounding foolish. I needed some credibility. “Besides, I’ve never left Rorikstead in my entire life. At least this way I’ll get to travel around Skyrim.”

            He pursed his lips in concentration. “Ain’t no better way I suppose. Gods damn woman is a beast to track down from what I hear from my employers.”

            “The Thieves Guild?” No harm in getting it out in the open, especially if that meant I’d get more information.

            He shot me a dirty look. “What’s a polite, young lady know about thieves, huh?”

            I took a quick glance at the map in my lap to gather my flustered thoughts. “Enough to know the Dragonborn works with them sometimes.”

            Virk laughed hard at that for some reason. “Sure. _Sometimes_. Well, you didn’t hear it from me but rumor has it that no one has seen her. And by no one, I mean _no one._ ”

             The way he said that was puzzling me. “‘No one’ meaning…?”

            Instead of immediately answering, Virk wrapped the reins tightly around his hands and tugged his right arm back roughly. “Steady, there!” he shouted at the horse. He continued to coax it back around to turn down the bend of a particularly crooked piece of winding road. It neighed loudly in protest but eventually compromised. He addressed me again. “If the Dragonborn doesn’t want to be found by any of the political types, she’s got a pretty good way of avoiding them. Ulfric might shout from here to High Hrothgar, but she’s more like to shout right back at him to shove it up his arse.” I bristled a little at the coarse language but he continued. “But _others_ usually know how to find her. Or she finds them.”

            He didn’t have to explain as the weight of his meaning fell on me heavily. The Dragonborn disappeared from at least Skyrim about two years ago. Literally. “So, um, these ‘others,’ they wouldn’t know where she is either?”

            “Girl, even if they did, I’d doubt they talk to you. Not really the type to talk and socialize, if you know what I mean.”

            I nodded, sat back in my seat. From my bag I pulled out a hair pin made out of mammoth bone. Giant’s often kept mammoths domestically, etching in intricate but hard to discern patterns in their tusks. The pin that lay in my hand now also had strange markings and swirls on it. Turning it over and over with my calloused fingers made hard from farming, it hit me just how in over my head I was.

            Who was I but poor, beaten Sissel from Rorikstead out in the middle of Skyrim? I’d never had the courage to travel in all of my eighteen seasons but now not only was I leaving but I had the stupid pride to believe I could find the mighty Hero of Skyrim, the Dragon of the North, Alduin’s slayer. And what good reason did I have to even fool myself into thinking such nonsense? A stupid hair pin and some brief memories from over five years ago of meeting the woman who called herself Rook.

            But they were some of the best memories I had, aside from my time with Jouane. But he was so old now that it was getting harder for him to help me, shield me from the nightmare that was my home. What used to be a couple of hours of magic training each day had shortened and I was forced to help in the meager farm my family owned. But Jouane had taught me much. As a healer dealing the Great War, his skills were mostly in restoring the balance between life and death. It took me some long hard hours, but my Nord blood finally yielded to me. I could heal, make wards.

            But I wanted more.

            And I knew the Dragonborn could help me.

            We hit another bump and my backside reminded me of how sore it was. Frustrated, I rolled the map back up and did my best to nap, my eyes heavy from the boring ride. First, I tried lying down on the seat which worked out okay until we hit another bump and my head bounced. Then I shifted so that I was half-sitting, half-leaning. Again, no success. This dragged on for what seemed like hours until my body just gave up on being comfortable and I fell asleep sitting up.

            My last thought was of Jouane hugging me as tightly as his age would allow and telling me that he had cherished me, that he wished he could have done more for me. Part of me cared for him like he was my family but another part of me was confused as to why he never tried to save me from my father and sister. But maybe there was no such thing as saving everyone. Maybe all that existed was doing the best one could. I would have believed it if just then, the Dragonborn hadn’t come back into my thoughts.

            I knew _she_ could save us all, save everyone. First the dragons and now the vampires.

            I just had to find her.

* * *

 

            Since a child I’d had a dream about a dragon.

            One of the few times I’d met Rook, I told her about it. Her strange mask didn’t allow her emotions to be betrayed. Instead, she’d given me, “Interesting.” And that was it.

            So as the carriage came to a stop, my mind awoke from the fog of half-sleep with that dragon still lingering in my thoughts. Every time it’s appeared to me, I can tell it’s trying to say something because it’s moving its mouth, eyes burning into me some sort of meaning that I can’t decipher. Virk called out, “Whiterun, just in time before the sun goes down.” He didn’t need to add, “And before the vampires come out.”

            My legs groaned in complaint as I stood up and stepped out of the carriage. I couldn’t see anything beyond the wall that surrounded Whiterun. Having something rise so high above my head made me feel a little safer. I watched as Virk talked to the stable hand, motioning to his horse and carriage. The setting sun spread rich gold across the expanse of land around the town. Being used to lots of open land, I didn’t expect to be so surprised at the beauty of it but being outside of Rorikstead made me realize how little I knew about Skyrim. The pleasant feeling slowly became filled with a sense of apprehension.

            “Well, shall we?” Virk motioned to the gates, breaking me out of my daze. “I’m sure you’re hungry. I sure as Oblivion am.”

            All I gave him was a short nod and dutifully followed behind him. Two guards outside of the main gates shouted to signal another set of guards patrolling the top of the wall who in turn shouted to another set I couldn’t see. A groan of metal and wood slowly revealed Whiterun to us. I couldn’t have predicted how big it was. First foot in and we were met with people and more people and so much movement. Virk seemed comfortable enough making his way around, but my eyes couldn’t stop from wandering. We passed a woman at a forge as we walked in, someone’s two-story home. He pointed at a large building near us.

            “The Drunken Huntsman,” he explained, working his way to its steps. “You won’t find lodging here but you’ll get a hot meal.”

            “Where _would_ I find lodging then? I’m exhausted,” I rubbed my neck to emphasize that the carriage ride hadn’t been kind to me. Maybe I’d underestimated how hard long travel was.

            Virk motioned across the way a bit, past another house. “See the town well? Directly across is The Bannered Mare. That’s where you’ll be wanting.”

            “Are you staying in Whiterun long? What if I run into trouble or what if something happens and I need to leave or—”

            He held a hand up to stop me. “I’ll be here for a few days. Gotta attend to some business for some _other_ people.”

            “Right,” I nodded to show him I understood. “ _Others_ , got it.”

            He rolled his eyes. “Word of advice: be careful who you speak to about your matters. Dragonborn ain’t everyone’s flagon of ale around here since the war ended a few years back.”

            Part of me wanted to ask him more but Virk seemed to be slowly inching his way to the entrance of The Drunken Huntsman. Of course he was tired and hungry and here I stood, prattling on like a fool. So instead of asking him more, I bid him good evening and made my way to The Bannered Mare.

            There were just _so many_ people. Children ran around in the cool, summer air of Sun’s Height laughing and screaming in delight as they played a game of tag. Some adults were standing around, chatting to one another. I must have watched for more than a few minutes in awe that I was really here. Rorikstead seemed so far away now. But just yesterday I’d been waiting for this moment as I yanked out weeds from the dry earth of our meager path of farm land. Sissel from yesterday seemed like an entirely different person. Sissel from a week ago didn’t even seem real. All of my patient waiting and planning had finally come to this moment. Maybe finding Rook wouldn’t be easy but I’d been through so much to get here. I could go through so much more to find her. Skyrim needed her.

            _I_ needed her.

Smiling widely, I made my way to The Bannered Mare.


	2. Sissel

Late morning light streamed in through the rafters of my upstairs room at The Bannered Mare. For a moment I panicked. I should’ve been up hours ago, helping out with the chores. Papa and Britte… and then I remembered they weren’t here. This was Whiterun and I was free to do as I pleased. At the thought, I stretched out long and felt my muscles complain. Riding in carts was apparently a skill I couldn’t acquire with one trip. My backside ached at the thought. Minor sacrifices if it led me to the Dragonborn.

            But she wasn’t in Whiterun at this very moment so there wasn’t any reason to not take my time washing the road off. I even scrubbed my hair with the small bar of lye I’d managed to squirrel away from home, feeling better once it had been entirely rinsed. It was thick and stubbornly straight, so a simple braid would have to suffice while it dried during my day out. I threw on the only clothes I had and climbed downstairs.

            Hulda was nice enough. A business woman through and through, she wasn’t much for small talk but aided me in directions, who to avoid, and a bit of free advice. “Don’t go out after sundown.” As if she needed to tell me such a thing. Her true skill, however, was in shooting Mikael dirty looks whenever he flirted too much. Last night he attempted to woo me and I couldn’t stop from laughing in his face. Hulda simply shooed him away, “I’m too old for this racket, by the gods. I should have retired years ago.” This morning though it was just her and Saadia, a Redguard woman who didn’t talk much.

            “Good morning,” I greeted. “It sounded busy down here last night.”

            She scoffed. “More like a ruckus. Soldiers are soldiers, makes no difference if they’re with the Empire or Ulfric.”

            Ulfric Stormcloak. A name I’d heard many times. Rumors and whispers even reached Rorikstead that he and Elisif the Fair put the moot for High King aside until the vampire problem had been dealt with. Skyrim continued to stay in limbo, two years past and no ruler except for the local jarls. As Jouane often described it, “A fine mess.”

            All I could offer her was a nod. My next words had to be chosen carefully. Virk had told me to be careful who I talked to about my search for Rook. Maybe I could find a way to bring it up without attracting too much attention. “The vampires too much to handle for any soldier?”

            “Ha!” At that Hulda almost stopped working. “Jarl should probably just start giftwrapping our sentry for the beasts for all the good they do.”

            “It’d be nice if the Dragonborn cared enough to take care of the problem.”

            She sighed, shrugged. “What are you going to do? Although, can’t blame her for running off all the time. Killing dragons, fighting wars, getting attacked on the street while shopping for supper at the gods damned market. I need a break from running this damned inn. Imagine she probably needs a break every now and then too. She’s saved this place more than once.”

            After agreeing with her, I decided to head off to the square market for breakfast instead. I certainly wouldn’t find Rook sitting around talking to Hulda. Besides, Virk had other things to do. Best not to waste my time in Whiterun. The town grew even busier during broad daylight if that were possible. The market even more so. Hulda had describe the Cloud District as overwhelming but it wasn’t until I saw it fully that I understood what she meant.

            “Dragonsreach,” I barely whispered to myself. I’d seen it from afar coming into the city but now it made its size fully known. Never in my life had I thought such things existed. Someone brushed roughly past me and I stumbled.

            “Watch it!” the man angrily threw at me as he stormed ahead.

            “Sorry, sorry!” my apologies became lost in the low rumble of the crowd around me.

            I stood in line for a few apples and some cheap, salted meat for later. While I didn’t have the luxury of all the time in the world, I did want to visit the Temple of Kynareth. Hulda had assured me that once I was in the marketplace, finding a large tree would be simple. Found it I did, although it appeared half-dead. Despite the depressing sight, the temple still seemed lively with patrons and priestesses alike coming in and out. Inside uplifted me.

            Bathed in light and swathed in lush, green, the interior took the wind from me. I prayed to Kynareth to let the air return to my lungs quickly. A few priestesses knelt by cots, praying and casting healing spells while one or two carried blankets and cloths. A woman with copper hair who was heavy with child chatted with a Redguard woman.

            “How can Kynareth bless you, my child?”

            I jumped at the voice suddenly behind me. “Oh! I… um… I’m here on business from Rorikstead. I wished to pay my respects to the goddess. I’ve a long way to go and wanted her blessings.”

            The Nord woman smiled gently and placed a hand between my shoulder blades, beckoning me to follow. “Welcome indeed then! For one so young, you seem to have a heavy burden placed upon you. I am Danica Pure-Spring and am the head of this temple. Goddess be upon us, I pray her guidance for you.” Her mouth softened so that the smile was less radiant. “I am afraid that the wounded and sick have been plentiful as of late so my services need to be with those who are suffering. However—” she waved at the Redguard and copper-haired woman. “My assistant Ahlam and her apprentice Erina can help you. Blessings upon you, my child.”

            The two women greeted me and Erina asked, “What is your name?”

            “Sissel. From Rorikstead.”

            Her grin could have melted the top of the Throat of the World. “Welcome, Sissel! We are blessed and happy to receive you!”

            Ahlam wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed lightly. “You look as though you’ve seen much in the few seasons Kyne has given you. Tell us, what brings you here?”

            One would have had to work hard to feel sad in this place. The interior’s beauty reflected the kindness in each of these women’s hearts. My heart fluttered each time one of them spoke, the timbre warm and welcoming. I felt as if I could trust them. “Travel. I’ve a long journey ahead of me and the path isn’t clear.” Both of them nodded, offering for me to explain further. “I’m looking for someone. I’ve not seen her in a very long time. In fact, no one has.”

            Ahlam’s brows furrowed as she softened her smile. “That sounds like a journey that will be difficult indeed.”

            Erina’s hands cradled her swollen belly, her face a mixture of sympathy and sadness. “Who are you looking for? Family? A friend? You are very brave to risk your life in times such as these.”

            My eyes darted around us to see if anyone was within earshot. Virk had told me to be careful; I couldn’t trust everyone. Dropping my voice, I admitted, “The Dragonborn.”

            I’d never seen anyone pale as quickly as Erina did. For a moment she looked as if she might faint, Ahlam gently reaching for her arm and allowing her to use it for support. The Redguard didn’t look _as_ effected but I could tell my words had resonated with her all the same. Maybe I’d made a mistake. My stomach began to turn in such a way that for the briefest of moments, I thought one of the apples I’d eaten were poisoned.

            “Come with us,” Ahlam commanded, her voice stern and unyielding. “This isn’t a topic for polite company.”

            Although Erina looked hesitant, she kept a hold of Ahlam all the same. No one seemed bothered by the three of us walking to a small backroom which was filled with a bookcase and a small bed. Erina sat on the bed, her pallor looking a bit less peaked. She patted the space beside her, a weak smile offering the space to me. Ahlam took a nearby chair and situated herself in front of us.

            “The Dragonborn? What dealings would a young woman have with that dark lady?”

            My tongue failed me and my fingers began to fidget with themselves. Now that I was here and being confronted with such a reaction to my goal, I couldn’t help but feel foolish. Obviously, these two weren’t overjoyed at the idea of finding Rook. “I—I… um…” I glanced at Erina and then at Ahlam. Neither tried to take up the silence but rather let it stay open for my own words. “It’s hard to explain.”

            Ahlam patted my knee. “Anything is better than nothing.”

            With that small bit of encouragement, my voice found itself. “Well, I want to find her so this vampire problem will have a solution.”

            Erina nodded. “Sounds reasonable. If anyone would know how to take care of such a vicious outbreak, it would be her.”

            But Ahlam pressed, “And why else?”

            At that, I began to pick at a fingernail. “It’s… hard to describe.”

            Erina motioned at a pitcher of water to Ahlam who then poured me a tin cup of water. A few sips and I was better. So I tried again.

            “I wasn’t treated well where I’ve come from. A few years ago, I met Rook for the first time.”

            “Rook?” Erina asked.

            Ahlam looked just as puzzled. “Elisa Mallory?”  
            Erina shrugged. “That _is_ the Dragonborn. Although, now that you mention it, I do remember her calling herself something strange a few times.” She shook her head and explained, “She frightens me. I’m not from here and when I first saw her, there was just something about her… I’ve never gone out of my way to speak to her but I do hear things.”

            Elisa Mallory. An actual name was something I hadn’t considered being extremely helpful. “She never gave me anything but Rook. But she was one of the few people who showed me any kindness.”

            Erina let out a burst of laughter that made me flinch.

            “What? What’s so funny?”

            Ahlam smiled in such a way that only one side of her mouth uplifted but not so much that made me think she was making fun of me. “ _Kind_ isn’t the word I think most people would use to describe Elisa.”

            I squinted, made my mouth flat. “Well, she was kind enough to _me_. And it meant a lot. I just thought that maybe if I did this, I’d at least be done with Rorikstead for a bit. But Skyrim _does_ need her. Even if she isn’t a kind person, she can get rid of the vampires.”

            Both of them conceded that much.

            “It was a while ago,” Erina began, “but I almost recall something that happened with her in the marketplace. It stuck out to me because the people who attacked her were wearing the strangest clothing…” she trailed off, sounding a bit sad.

            “We had to help clean up the bodies afterwards,” Ahlam explained. “There were more than a couple of corpses.”

            Erina continued, “We took the masks to everyone in Whiterun—me, Ahlam, and my husband, Jon. Something didn’t seem right about them. We were worried that maybe it had something to do with the dragons.”

            “Did it?” I asked. I hadn’t seen or heard of a dragon attack in years. I just assumed Rook had killed them all.

            They both shook their heads but Erina kept the story going, “Couldn’t figure out what was going on but we sold their belongings to the local blacksmith. The Companions went ahead and buried them far outside of Whiterun. Said that’s what they’d get for attacking the people of Whiterun.”

            “But it was funny because no one else was hurt. The attackers seemed wholly focused on the Dragonborn from what I can remember,” Ahlam shook her head again. “I’m very sorry but it’s been so long ago that’s all I can remember. You could go see Adrianne and Ulfberth at Warmaiden’s. They might still have the masks at least, might be able to tell you something about them enough to give you an about where she was headed."

* * *

 

            My feet hurt from all the running around. Maybe stopping off at Warmaiden’s for more than just information would be useful as well. I could hear the pounding of a hammer and anvil close by to the entrance of Whiterun but when I reached it realized it was a woman smithing, my eyes widened and I stared for a bit.

            “Aye, girl! You needing something?” her voice broke the spell I was under.

            Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I asked, “You’re Adrianne?”

            She didn’t stop what she was doing but did slow down. “Aye.”

            How to explain this. Probably best to follow Ahlam and Erina’s lead. “Is it alright if we go inside?”

            At _that_ she halted completely and cocked an eyebrow at me. “Hate to break it to you, but this axe isn’t going to make itself. What’s this about?”

            I stepped closer and whispered, “The Dragonborn.”

            Adrianne just rolled her eyes and kept hammering. “That all? Not worth my time. My husband’s inside. I’m not about to stop work to chat.”

            Sighing in frustration, I moved past her and entered the shop. It was much better stocked than anything I’d ever seen. Armor, swords, shields, arrows, quivers, anything, everything.

            “Can I help—”

            “The woman outside said you might know something about the Dragonborn,” I interrupted. No need to be coy, I supposed.

            “My wife,” he leaned over the counter and yawned. “Always letting me find new ways to grow fat and soft behind the counter.” He grinned. “Well, gods bless her. I guess I’ve got time to humor you. The Dragonborn, now, is it? What about ‘er?”

            His wife? The two didn’t look like a pair. While her blonde hair and delicate facial features didn’t mark her as one for being over a forge all day, his rough skin, facial scars, and dark, coarse hair wasn’t exactly what I pictured sitting behind a shop counter. “I was told by some priestesses that she was attacked a couple of years ago here in Whiterun, that the attackers wore strange clothes.”

            He grunted. “And you expect me to remember something from years ago?”

            Well, of course the time between her disappearance and now would cause something of a snag but surely he remembered _something_. “When was the last time you saw her?”

            “Gods damned if I know. Although, for what it’s worth, Dragonborn is always off running here and there. Especially after the war.”

            “What happened?” The civil war was over in Skyrim, for now anyway. I had no idea why it would have anything to do with Rook.

            “What?” Ulfberth let out a half-hearted laugh. “You don’t know? Damned woman made sure the Stormcloaks could set up here, installed a jarl she could control so she could trap a dragon up in Dragonsreach. Only problem was, after she was done the Stormcloaks stayed. You must have noticed.”

            I nodded, speechless. I had noticed a large number of blue and grey uniforms, emblazoned with Ulfric’s bear. Rorikstead saw both of the troops but no battles were ever fought near us. But a _dragon_? Rook not only made sure she could pull strings in Whiterun but also trapped _a dragon_? “So, she comes and goes.”

            “An understatement.”

            “Does she come and go around Warmaiden?”

            “She’s spent a few Septims here, aye,” he hummed in thought for a moment, staring off at the wall behind me. “You mentioned strange clothes? I don’t remember anything but the masks the bastards wore, reminded me of dragons. Wait here.”

            I did so as he hopped off his stool and took heavy steps into a back room, his feet landing square and sure. When he returned, he slid an off-white mask across the counter to me. “Damned thing is worthless but we kept it one in case she ever came back and wanted it. Rest were used to help keep the forge going.”

            My fingers traced the sunken in eye areas where cracks in the strange material wrapped around themselves into spirals. I could see why Ahlam and Erina thought it might have something to do with the dragons, with the overall shape of the face and the way the teeth hung out and low like pointed fangs. “Hmmm.” I’d hoped to sound thoughtful but in actuality, I just didn’t know what to say.

            “Listen, you can have it if you want. She sure as Oblivion hasn’t been around for a while. City’s better off, if you ask me. Whenever she comes around, there’s _always_ trouble. First the business with the Companions, then she runs off to let dragons have at us and doesn’t help us unless it benefited her. Dragonborn, my arse.”

            The coarse language was getting hard to get used to.

            Glancing back at the mask, I nodded. “Well. Thanks.”

* * *

 

            I waited patiently for Virk at the Bannered Mare, wiggling my toes in a new pair of boots that cost me thirty Septims. A little extravagant but I figured my feet would be doing a great deal of walking. After visiting Warmaiden, I’d wandered around Whiterun to not only take in the sights but to also figure out what made people so anxious about Rook here. I didn’t bring her up anymore but watched the soldiers, listened to the gossip. One thing was for certain: the citizens weren’t entirely happy about the Stormcloaks but less excited about the vampires. I’d run into Virk and he offered to buy me a small dinner. Having just spent money on shoes, I wasn’t about to pass it up.

            He wandered through the door and caught my attention, “Well, then. If it isn’t the Dragonborn’s keeper.”

            I shot him a weary look. All I’d learned today was that a couple of years wore down memory and that Rook had been attacked by some people wearing strange masks. Not exactly a great start. “Very funny,” I rested my head in my hand. “So why are you buying me food?”

            He shrugged. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Wanted to let you know and make sure you were at least good for the night. Can’t stay here any longer. At least not with the Stormcloaks asking me questions about my wares.”

            The way he described his business made me suspicious that the wares in question weren’t exactly legally acquired goods. That aside, I realized the weight of his words. “Tomorrow?” Frowning, I shook my head and grasped his arm. “But I just got here! And I’ve not found anything and what if I make someone angry or—”

            He gently pulled his arm away. “I’ve got business to attend to. Heading to Windhelm first and then back to Riften. Unless you’re heading there and have the coin, I can’t help you.”

            My mind raced. Rook had been in Whiterun, most certainly. She’d left after some strange individuals with weird masks came after her. And then she left. And that was all I knew. Some soldiers came in, just as loud as the night before. Hulda grumbled something but I couldn’t make it out. I wondered if her life was easier before the Stormcloaks came from… wait.

            “Windhelm.”

            Virk raised an eyebrow at me. “What about it?”

            “That’s where I need to go,” my fingers fidgeted against one another. “I think. That’s where Ulfric and the Stormcloaks have their home, right?”

            “Uh, sure?” he looked puzzled.

            “Well, if the Dragonborn helped the Stormcloaks, maybe she went to them to get help with whoever attacked her. What if it had to do with the dragons? Maybe she found out something?”

            Virk furrowed his brow, lowered his voice. “Listen, I only heard gossip but the Dragonborn and the Thieves’ Guild, well, it’s complicated. A few years ago, the Thieves’ Guild got a new leader. I’ve never met him but, almost immediately, he and the Dragonborn started working together. Don’t know why or how but for certain, they screwed over Maven Black-Briar something fierce. The way I heard it, your Dragonborn made sure Maven stayed under foot in more ways than one.”

            I had no idea who Maven Black-Briar was but let him keep talking.

            “Dragonborn’s involvement with the war was the big reason Maven is where she is. Thieves’ Guild will be fine, makes her too much of a profit for now but the Stormcloaks? Ah, they’ve rightly put her in her place in Riften.”

            “Alright, so why tell me this?”

            “Because, you might find that Maven’s reach is something you want to stay far away from. You go after the Dragonborn, bring her back? Maven might want to punish you for that.”

            For a moment, I considered it but then realized that Maven wasn’t a real threat right now. I had to find Elisa Mallory or Rook or however she called herself. If I made a few enemies along the way, so be it. This was too important and no one else was taking it seriously.

            “No,” I shook my head. “To Windhelm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sissel is very dedicated to this journey, isn't she? But she's also not like Rook--she apologizes when someone bumps into HER--so it's interesting to write a character like her. On the other hand, we're only scratching the surface with Sissel. She DID come from an abusive household and that's going to effect her greatly sometimes. If you'd like to know a bit more about Ahlam and Erina, I suggest reading "Oh, Mara!" It's cute and is based on a bad pick-up line. 
> 
> But back to Sissel. You might notice she's a quick study: she puts together ideas and facts pretty quickly, is pretty aware of her financial situation, but IS a bit oblivious to looming threats like Maven (to be fair, she doesn't know who Maven is). 
> 
> Alright, this chapter begins the count of how many names Rook has planted around to keep people confused. It would be pointless to act as if we don't know what her real name is but it's interesting to see how she cloaks herself with confusion to keep people from finding her, using her identity against her, and keeping her criminal life mostly separate from being a Hero (eh, it's questionable as to how effective she is). I will say that in the last chapter, Virk isn't referring to Brynjolf as the master of the Thieves Guild but rather everyone believes that the Dragonborn and the Thieves Guild are two separate people (and thinks the master is male).
> 
> I pushed out two updates today (this chapter and a chapter for Relentless) so I'm sorry for not giving out specific shout-outs but thank you to all who've left kudos and commented on the last chapter.
> 
> Next chapter? We'll see how Sissel likes Windhelm. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	3. Sissel

Before we left the next morning, Virk demanded that I pick up some supplies.

            “It’s one thing to go from Rorikstead to Whiterun but the journey to Windhelm ain’t going to be easy.”

            So while Virk readied the horse and carriage outside the walls of Whiterun, I was back at Warmaiden’s. Ulfberth busied himself with pulling out more thick, winter coats and boots. My hands couldn’t bear parting with gold over these things when I didn’t need them. I packed a thick cloak and winters weren’t unknown to me. Windhelm couldn’t be _that_ bad.

            “Well, what’ll it be?” Ulfberth interrupted my thoughts.

            I brought a finger to mouth and began to chew thoughtfully on a fingernail. “Um… I guess, well, I don’t want to spend a lot.”

            He smirked at me. “It’s going to be at least a _few_ Septims to buy anything warm.”

            “I know, I _knoooooow_ ,” I complained, groaning. Surveying my choices, I pointed at a set that wasn’t too ugly looking. Being warm was one thing, but I preferred to not look like a patchwork of deer. “How much?”

            He started folding the coat up. “One hundred.”

            “ _One hundred_?” My head swam. “But that’s almost everything I have.”

            Ulfberth sighed. “One hundred is a fairly generous deal for a nice, thick coat and boots that’ll keep your feet dry.”

            “Seventy,” I countered

            “Ninety.”

            “Eighty.”

            He stared at me, mouth in a flat line. “Ninety and that’s it.”

            Grimacing each time my hand brought out a handful of coins, I shoved the money towards him. “They’re really worth it?”

            “Child, trust me. It’s cold up there.”

            I nodded and made my way to Whiterun’s entrance. Looking back, I wished I could have spent more time here. Right after waking I took time to go to the temple and wish the priestesses farewell. Erina and Ahlam were nowhere to be found. But I was running out of funds quickly. Staying here would require me finding work. After the new clothes and food for the trip, I had a total of fifty Septims left. Well, less than that after paying Virk for travel.

            The guards took a moment to open the doors, the wood dragging hard against the dirt ground. Some metallic clanking from the chains pulling the doors open accompanied the motion. A few feet of walking and I was at the stables. Most of the stable hands stood around, chatting. Virk wasn’t far away so I met up with him.

            “Ready?” He hitched the bit to some other part of the harness.

            Frowning, I threw my pack and my new purchases into the back of the carriage. “It was really expensive.”

            He shook his head, chuckling. “You’ll thank me.”

            “My coin purse doesn’t,” I grumbled but strolled over to where the horse stood, petting its soft coat.

            Virk stopped what he was doing to give me a serious look. “Girl, listen. What you’re doing it’s… I know it means a lot to you. I’d almost call it admirable if it weren’t so foolish but there ain’t always going to be someone like me to make sure you don’t misstep too badly. You want the truth? The Dragonborn ain’t a stand-up person. Powerful? Certainly. Good? Hard to say. I only know what whispers get around. I run things here and there for my, um, _employers_. But the whispers I’ve heard, makes me wonder if I can in good faith let you run after her.”

             My hand kept stroking the horse, letting my thoughts collect. Rook’s reputation after looking for her in a span of two days hadn’t exactly extinguished my enthusiasm but it had dimmed its glow. “I don’t think she’s a good person but I know that she cares. She _has_ to.” Stopping what I was doing, I hopped into the back of the carriage while Virk settled into the driver’s seat. With a whip of the reins, we were off.

            For a few moments, there was silence but I felt the need to continue. “She’s put her life on the line to kill dragons. I’ve seen what those creatures can do, the way they kill Men and Mer and Beast alike. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t even try.”

            I almost didn’t hear Virk _hmm_ in response between the clopping of the horse’s hooves and the grind of the wheels beneath the ground. Then he ended it by saying, “I’m sure there’s always something in it for her though.”

* * *

 

            There was nothing that could have prepared me for how miserable this trip was. Virk explained that taking the north road would be quicker because the south road would be filled with more excursions across rivers, through mountains, and alongside bandit hideouts. “We’d be staying overnight on the road. Don’t want that.”

            I didn’t want that either but taking the north road meant a _lot_ of the trip was spent in the colder region of Skyrim. Suddenly, I fully understood and appreciated Virk’s insistence on buying warmer gear. Between the cold biting at me and the carriage causing my bottom some severe discomfort, I stayed huddled in my winter cloak and the warm winter coat while sitting askew, readjusting every few seconds. Tears streamed down my face as the winter wind would come and go in bursts. Was I ever able to feel the tips of my fingers? It was hard to remember as the bitter cold sunk into my bones. Virk had assured me that it wasn’t always this bad, that it was just a leftover from winter. It was already spring in Rorikstead and Whiterun. Apparently, the northeastern part of Skyrim hadn’t received the courier’s message yet.

            Worse, the north road wasn’t free from all problems. We still had a section of the mountain to travel across and we still had one river to cross. Luckily, that was all. Unluckily, that meant that we were getting to Windhelm just as the sun was setting. Which made the scene even more depressing. The water around Windhelm was clotted with chunks of ice that made a sickening, sloshing sound in the dark waters. Even the horses in the stable next to the bridge seemed miserable. Even crossing the icy, dark bridge was horrible. My behind and my legs were in pain so I was slipping and sliding even though I was trying to be careful. That and it was hard to see. Even as we reached the main gates, the sight of the overbearing and dark city wall that loomed over us made me anxious.

            It got worse as the tall gates opened. Nothing green existed. Ice hung from the dark, tall walls lining the city streets. Everything looked worn. Virk pointed at the building greeting us, sitting dead center in the square.

            “Candlehearth Hall. You’re going to want to stay here. Dark Elves don’t care for too many Men over at the Cornerclub.”

            I had no idea what he meant by that but I nodded. “So, does the Dragonborn have a not-so-great reputation here too?”

            “A bit better. She helped Ulfric gain power in Skyrim so Windhelm isn’t as unkind. Doesn’t mean there aren’t people who wouldn’t find you askin’ ‘round suspicious,” he shrugged. “Now, girl, I’m serious. What you’re doin’, it’s dangerous and I’m leavin’ early tomorrow morning.”

            He let the thought linger. Not that he needed to spell it out for me, I realized what he was getting at. My quick luck in Whiterun was a fluke, even I knew that. Our paths would have to part sooner or later and now it was fast becoming sooner. “Thank you,” I gave him a confident smile. “You’ve been a great help. I don’t know how I would have gotten started without you.”

            Virk returned a somewhat sad smile. “Just don’t get yourself hurt. Too badly. Past few years, Skyrim’s been cast into a dark shadow by dragon wings. Now the vampires come out when the sun is down. I just hope you won’t find too much disappointment if you have to sacrifice too much.”

            Again, I nodded but my smile faded and I casted my gaze downward to the ground. “Thank you. I’ll be careful.”

            And he went off to the left to whatever lay in that section of town while I continued forward. A beggar woman warmed her hands near a fire pit glowing brightly outside the inn. I tried not to make eye contact. I didn’t want to _not_ give but at the same time I was stuck with little funds.

She didn’t bother me so I didn’t feel too guilty. Luckily, the inn was more inviting than the city. The dining area wasn’t too crowded but I wasn’t interested in anything but a bed. Freezing and exhausted, my feet carried me to the bar and I offered the bartender my brightest smile. “Hi, do you have a room available? I don’t want to stay at the Cornerclub.” I still wasn’t sure what Virk meant by it, but I made sure to express the sentiment.

            The woman’s eyes carried dark, heavy bags underneath but she returned my smile. “No worries. Young lady like yourself shouldn’t be forced to suffer their company. We’ve got rooms upstairs and on the floor. Ten gold.”

            I slid her some Septims. “Can I pick? I like being upstairs.”

            “Certainly, young lady,” coming from behind the counter, she started strolling towards a nearby staircase. “Name’s Elda Early-Dawn. I’m the owner of Candlehearth, have been for many years now.” When she looked back to give me another smile, it was hard not to notice her deep blue eyes. Even behind the wrinkles and the blonde hair tinged with grey that strayed onto her face, it wasn’t hard to imagine that she had probably been chased by more than one person in hopes of getting her attention. In younger days, Elda had probably been a sight. Now, she just looked tired. Still pretty, but tired.

            The woman continued, unprompted, “It’s so nice to see a good, pure Nord around here. I get so sick and tired of seeing Mer and Beasts everywhere. By Talos, these Dark Elf refugees will take over the city if we aren't careful.”  
  
            Ah. Suddenly a clearer picture came into focus. Jouane often told stories about his own history as a Breton and in these tales, he would often bring up the complicated relationship Nords had with other races. “Other Men usually aren’t a problem, but Nords are touchy about Mer and Beast. They don’t see them as equal.”

            Confused, I would often respond, “But I’m a Nord. I don’t think like that. Everyone is equal. Don’t the gods judge us all equally?”

            “Try telling that to every race who’s enslaved another,” he’d laugh flatly. “Although Nords aren’t too thrilled about Bretons, Imperials, or Redguards but at least we’re still Men. Well, not the Bretons who come from older families, the ones whose bloodline haven’t exactly gotten clear of the Mer blood.”

            “Mer blood?”

            Jouane nodded. “Old, old Aldmer blood. The Mer who spread across Tamriel and split off. In the beginning, Bretons were a mix. That was so long ago though, we look like Imperials or Redguards now. You wouldn’t know most Bretons until you looked at our cheekbones or ears or eyebrows. But it’s there, just like how we’re the most proficient at magic when it comes to Men. Others are okay, Nords are terrible, but we’re the best.” He must have seen my frown because he quickly added, “Not _all_ of the Nords are terrible. You’re turning out to be quite capable.”

            And I remembered Rook. As we climbed up the stairs, I wondered if Windhelm treated her kindly. Maybe she just never showed her face. But it was undeniably not of a Nord or Imperial or Redguard. Her wild black hair that touched her shoulders covered her ears but her face had those high cheekbones, arched eyebrows. Elda’s voice broke into my thoughts.  
  
            “I asked if you needed anything else,” she motioned around the room. “Everything should be here.”

            I shook my head. “No, I’m fine for right now. Exhausted and cold, but fine.”

            She laughed. “Ah, yes. That about sums up Windhelm. Place itself is exhausted and cold. Makes me wonder if Ulfric didn’t make a mistake waging that war. Mind you, I’m grateful he did. At least _someone_ cares about the Nords in our home, but it’s taken a toll on him. Especially since the Dragonborn hasn’t been seen in a while.”

            At _that_ I caught a bit of second wind. “She helped with the war, didn’t she?”  
  
            “That she did, damn smart of her to do so. Dragonborn is supposed to be saving Skyrim and her people for _gods’ sake._ The least she could do is her job.”  
  
            Elda liked gossiping. Fortunate for me.  
  
            “Did the Dragonborn not want to?”

            The woman shrugged, rolling her eyes. “Gods only know what that woman wants to do. She’s always off here and there and who knows when she returns. Last time I even heard rumors of her back in town was…” her lips pursed thoughtfully, mulling over the time past, “…had to have been at least a few years ago. But those sorts of things are always the same, aren’t they? ‘Erith might be in town. I heard she stopped by her house. Well, _I_ heard she went to the Palace of the Kings,’ and on and on it goes. But, I don’t lose sleep over it.”

            I didn’t even ask. Erith had to have been the name she gave everyone here. Elisa Mallory, Erith, and Rook. More names to use but, more importantly, I now knew that using one name everywhere might not get me everywhere. If I’d asked about Elisa Mallory here, no one would have been able to help because Elisa Mallory _didn’t even exist_ here. I nodded, assured her I was fine. Mostly I needed some time alone to gather my thoughts, rest.  
  
            After unpacking, dressing for bed, and bundling myself into the thick blankets, I pulled out one of the books Jouane had given me. The candle beside me offered enough light to read by but I couldn’t focus. So I put the book aside and reached for the strange mask Ulfberth had given me. Nestling further into the cozy quilt, I felt my bones ache and my skin melt in exhaustion. Traveling presented more than a small challenge, especially running across half of Skyrim in less than three days. But still, my hands turned over the mask and my fingers ran over each groove, each crack as if trying to divine some information from it. Had Rook been attacked here too? I’d come here because I thought that she might have gone to the Stormcloaks and Ulfric for help but it almost seemed like they needed _her._  
  
            It was quite possible that the trip to Windhelm was a complete waste and I’d screwed up everything before it began. The mask turned over and over and my mind wouldn’t settle. I had to be honest with myself: I also came to Windhelm because I didn’t want to be without the only friendly face I had. But there was no way I could afford to keep traveling with him. My gold was already dwindling quicker than expected; worse yet, I’d spent a great deal of my funds on supplies to be here in Windhelm. Where it seemed like Rook didn’t really need help from anyone. Which was the only reason I had to believe someone might be able to help me.

            “Argh!” I groaned into my pillow, letting my hands drop the mask onto the bed. “ _Two years,_ ” I grumbled into the cushion. “How am I supposed to find someone who disappears on a whim when no one’s seen her for two years and she didn’t even tell anyone where she was going before she left?”

            Tears _almost_ threatened to break through but my fingers brushed the jagged edges of the mask and I sat up in the bed. A finger hooked onto it and I dragged it across the quilt, running my fingertips across it again. It was unusual. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to Windhelm but I could at least take comfort in knowing that I had _something._ I couldn’t just give up now, barely three days into my search. I had to be stronger than the pain in my joints and the bruises on my backside. I needed a plan. No, Windhelm didn’t seem pleasant but at least being a Nord here seemed to offer some privileges. So, I was at least safe enough.  
  
            Sitting up in bed, I grabbed the spell book and flipped through the pages, looking for any large, blank spots. After coming up empty, I settled on the inside cover. Throwing my leg out of the safe warmth of the covers, my foot hooked onto the strap of my bag and I pulled it towards me. Scrambling through it, I found a smaller pouch where I kept a few pieces of charcoal. Taking out the most intact stick, I began working through a strategy. I couldn’t rely on luck alone to keep me sustained.

            “First things first,” I scribbled down some notes. “Money. At least find a job or two in Windhelm and build my store of funds. It should be easier without papa and Britte to weigh me down.”

            What else?

            “Information.” My fingers scratched down more words. “Rook’s tricky.” I wrote down all the names I knew her by now: Elisa Mallory, Erith. “Don’t tell anyone I’m looking for her, Virk isn’t here to help. Have to be safe.” I remembered what he told me about a woman named Maven Black-Briar. What if there were more people like her? “Better to learn little bits here and there. Slowly.” I bet Elda would be a good source of town gossip.  
  
            My fingers kept working. I needed to find an alchemy shop, somewhere to practice my magic. Maybe someone to help me keep up my work. For certain I’d get rusty if I stopped my studies. I wasn’t skilled enough yet to keep my magicka link for very long. Tapping thoughtfully at my list, I considered it for a moment. Those were the most pressing items.  
  
            Closing the book, I put it aside and cocooned myself into the comfort of the inn bed. Without the sun, the night was bitter. Perhaps it would be warm in the morning. Sighing, I closed my eyes and hoped I would dream of the grey dragon. But my last thought was my only comfort.  
  
            _I can do this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed the last chapter needed some editing--which means this one might too! I'll go back and clean up the mistakes later so please excuse them for now. On that note, if you like reading my work and would like to be a beta, please let me know! I'm having trouble making time for writing, editing, writing, and re-editing. I really need someone to look over for grammar and formatting issues. Thanks!
> 
> So, what to say about this chapter? More fake names, more mystery, and more danger for poor Sissel. But she's still optimistic and is pretty quick at putting things together. She and Rook might be very different, but they've got one thing in common: both are stubborn and relentless. Albeit in different ways, both press on no matter what. Windhelm is also Rook has a complicated relationship with--as hinted at in Rook of Skyrim--but we'll get to see it in action. Also, if you can't tell, it's cold there. REALLY cold. Yikes.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and reading! If you haven't checked it out, I commissioned an artist to draw Rook and she looks amazing! Just check it out over at skyrim-fanfiction at Tumblr (looking at the "rook" or "elya ashwing" tag should get you close to it!).
> 
> Next chapter? More adventures of Sissel and Windhelm...until she meets some familiar faces from Solstheim!


	4. Sissel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to my new beta, praeeunt! She was kind enough to offer her time and services for my work. If you find a way, please thank her for her hard work. This chapter would not have been possible without her!

Elda kept me busy enough for three people over the last two months. When I asked if she had any spare work to allow myself to earn some coin, the inn owner didn’t hesitate to smile widely and give my shoulders a quick squeeze.

            “It’s been so long since anyone new has come to Windhelm that I haven’t been able to find reliable and stable help. Especially with the poor fate that befell poor Susanna years ago.”

            “Fate?”

            She waved off my concerns but added as an afterthought, “Just a serial murderer. The Dragonborn helped capture and execute him, you know.”

            My stomach had turned but I accepted Elda’s offer, put the nasty thought away. I scrubbed floors, washed dishes, helped the inn’s cook Nils in the kitchen, and once a week swept cobwebs out from every nook and cranny. The spiders didn’t bother me as much as the rats that I sometimes had to deal with. Elda insisted that all vermin should be killed but I couldn’t bear the thought of doing something so horrific to something so large. Instead I’d spend more than a couple of minutes trying to catch it and set it free. Nils would often remind me that I was practically giving them an invitation to return. I simply shrugged and told him it was my time to waste.

            Unfortunately, my pay mostly went to room and board so saving turned out to be more difficult than expected. When my dress started to fray at the ends, I had to exert some serious strength of will not to use my savings to buy new clothing. Instead, I sat by candlelight with a needle and thread in my tired, blistered hands desperately working to make the hemline look new. When I got sick because of the constant cold weather, I put off a trip to The White Phial. Instead Elda gave me hot tea and soup to eat, allowed me a day off. But by the beginning of the third month living in Windhelm, I finally had enough money to ask Elda for a day off so I could visit the alchemy shop. When I asked her about magic, her response wasn’t optimistic.

            “Magic? _Goodness_ , not here! Nothing dangerous like that! That’s all kept up to that College in Winterhold,” she’d replied, shocked that I’d mention such a thing. She’d finally add, “Better that than dealing with Ulfric's wizard like some do,” for good measure. It was probably better to keep my practices to myself. I’d never realized the extent to which Nords were against using magic until living here. My bad luck that I was a Nord who wanted to practice.

            The White Phial was near the marketplace which I’d grown familiar with. Nils often sent me to deal with Hillevi Cruel-Sea for fresh produce or Aval Atheron for the occasional fresh game. Dealing with Aval often put a strain on my nerves at times; being a Dunmer, he wasn’t overly fond of dealing with yet another Nord customer. Any polite questions I had for him were usually ill-met. My purchases with Hillevi were much smoother and I enjoyed talking with her husband and son. I prayed silently that I’d never have to deal with Niranye, an Altmer merchant who seemed to always have her eye on me.

            But today, I could finally skip business and return to my training in magic. The entrance to the store was much like all the other doorways in Windhelm: frost-covered and uninviting. Inside smelled of warmth and fresh herbs boiling. All appeared quiet aside from a young man standing behind the counter, reading a book. He only glanced up at me when I closed the door but returned to his reading after he offered me a quick greeting. I pretended to peruse the alchemy ingredients on the shelves behind him, trying to screw my face into thoughtful contemplation. Alchemy wasn’t something I was familiar with beyond knowing that it existed. Jouane said that he had rudimentary knowledge of the skill but that most practical mages usually settled for being really good at one or two things.

            “Only College mages are concerned with knowing _everything_.”

            The young man with dark hair and light eyes glanced up from his reading again to find me looking puzzled over the ingredients. He offered a half-smile looking slightly amused.

            “I’m going to guess that you’ve no idea what you’re here for.”

            “Is it that obvious?”   

            Closing the book, he chuckled to himself in a way that made me feel stupid. The shopkeeper wasn’t making me feel very welcome. “Painfully. Here,” he reached out from under the desk and pulled out a tome that made a large _thud_ when he dropped it onto the desk. “What’s it being used for?”

            My eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Huh?”

            Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed. “This is an alchemy shop. I assumed you need a potion?” I shook my head. “A salve?” Another shake. “Cooking spices?” was the last attempt he made before sighing and offering me a chance to finally explain.

            “I’m a novice mage and have been looking for a place to keep studying. I came to Windhelm a few months ago but haven’t had the chance to find a place to practice,” I finally got out. I grabbed a spell book out of my bag. “I’ve been working on studying basic alteration but know a few destruction spells and—”

            He simply shook his head. “—bad news. The only person who _might_ be able to help you is off on business in Cyrodiil. Quintus Navale. I’m just the resident alchemist.” He stuck out his hand. “Aventus Aretino.”

            I shook the Imperial’s hand, noting the sound of wistfulness in his voice when he mentioned being an alchemist. Maybe it wasn’t what he had wanted from his life. “Oh,” I scanned over the ingredients behind him again. Aventus looked at me expectantly but I didn’t know what to do. From what I understood, mages were in short supply in Windhelm for obvious reasons. The White Phial was recommended to me as the only reliable source for magic studies.

I stuffed the book back into my bag. He replaced his book back from where it had been stored.

            He leaned over the counter, outstretched a hand. “So, does that mean you’ll be needing my help or not? You standing around figuring out…” he twirled a finger. “Whatever it is, isn’t exactly profitable.”

            I grimaced, taken aback at how rude this shopkeeper was being. Aventus didn’t look annoyed or cocky. Just waiting for me to move on one way or another. “Excuse me?”

            “You heard me,” he went back to his book. “If you want to stand around looking confused, the market square is just outside.”

            Suddenly, my face felt hot and my shoes became incredibly interesting to me. Aventus didn’t seem much older than I but I felt like a child. But I also felt a little frustrated. “How was I supposed to know the only other mage in the city was out on business? Give me a moment to _think_ , by Mara’s love.”

            He immediately threw up his hands in defense. “Well, my apologies if I’m not able to read your mind while you’re standing there in silence. A little communication goes a long way.”

            Suddenly, I felt even more foolish than before. I fiddled with my fingers. “I, um, suppose you’re right. I’m sorry.”

            To my surprise, Aventus laughed unexpectedly. The sound felt a little uneasy the way he made it, as if he wasn’t used to being amused by something. Once again, he pushed the books he was reading aside and grabbed a pestle and mortar. Grabbing more bowls filled with herbs and a bottle filled with a clear liquid, he explained, “Don’t worry about it. If you can’t tell, this place is pretty quiet and I was practically raised by someone who was always silent. Until she wanted you to know she was unhappy. So unless someone comes in here and knows exactly what they want, I tend to take after her bad habits.”

            Feeling a bit more at ease, I approached where he was working to get a better view of what he was doing. “Your mother?”

            At _that_ he laughed even harder. “Gods, no!” But then he quickly turned somber. “No,” the word came out a bit more quietly. “But someone who loved me just as much, I think. She just had a hard time showing it.” Then, as if realizing that I was still a stranger, he caught himself and motioned to the pestle and mortar. “Sorry, I’ve not seen her in a while and the last time we spoke, she made it seem like we wouldn’t again for a very long time. She’s been on my mind a lot lately. Alright, twenty gold and I’ll teach you some basics.”

            I fished out a few coins and slid them his way. I could spare a bit and alchemy might turn out to be useful. I wasn’t sure if I should encourage him to talk about someone who obviously occupied his thoughts. Thinking better of it, I asked, “What are you making?”

            Aventus pointed to the bowls, one by one. Each were small, wooden. They held things that were already cut up or pulverized to some extent. “Diced bleeding crowns, tundra cotton ends, and chopped lavender.” He then pointed the bottle. “And egg whites.”

            “Uh huh…” I picked up each bowl to examine their contents thoroughly. He waited as I did so. “And what are these supposed to make?”

            “Mage’s might have a lot of strength but they have a lot of weaknesses as well. Anyone who relies too heavily on their link to produce power has a few kinks in their armor, so to speak. Alchemy is a kind of magic that works to fortify or break down those weak spots. These ingredients can be used to make a potion that helps its user resist magic attacks.”

            I regarded him carefully. “So, does that mean you _do_ know something about magic?”

            He shook his head. “What was your name again?”

            “Sissel. Of Rorikstead.”

            “Sissel of Rorikstead. Allow me to explain,” he pointed a finger upward as if something on the ceiling were important. “Magic isn’t like cracking a skull or sneaking around to slit someone’s throat. It’s meant to crack skulls _and_ slit throats if you know the right words or know how to manipulate the world. But it’s also meant to mead bodies and save lives. With so many uses, it has many ties. Not too many uses for a sword beyond stabbing and slicing. So, lots more ways to access magic.”

            I considered his words carefully. I wanted the kind of power magic could afford but perhaps I had been too narrow in my focus. Maybe I _should_ be learning more ways in which I could use magic. Especially if I could find better ways of protecting myself or disabling someone without the nasty business of death or killing. It was just something I preferred my conscience to be free from.

            “Alright, so what comes first?”

            He smiled. “Lots and lots of grinding and smashing.” He dumped in the cotton first and proceeded to grind the pestle at such an angle that the plant lay at the edge of the mortar which he cradled in the crook of one arm. “Most delicate stuff first. If you don’t grind everything to a fine dust, then your work is for shit.” He handed me the bowl. “Have at it.”

            And I ground. And ground. And ground until the cotton was little more than a pile of dust. My hands were aching but then he handed me the lavender and then the bleeding crowns. My knuckles turned white as I pushed the mixture into itself. At times he instructed me to change the angle of the bowl or the pestle, insisting that to do otherwise would be to put my hands through Oblivion. The worst was when he poured the egg whites in. Then it felt more like stirring and whisking then grinding so my wrist began to hurt. The deep red, goopy final product lay stagnant in the dark bowl

            As Aventus’s steady hands poured the viscous stuff into leftover potion bottle, he warned, “Definitely wouldn’t drink this stuff for a couple of days. Potion like this? You’ll want to wait in order for its potency to increase. Wait too long though and it’ll go bad.”

            My stomach turned and my face scrunched up. “Go _bad_? How bad can that be?”

            He shrugged, his robes wrinkling deeply at the joints of his elbows. “All depends on how good the potion was the first time. At best, a stomach ache. At worst? One might spend several hours outside, voiding their bowels.”

            My face probably turned green as he slid me my creation. With that bit of information, I was probably going to pass on testing out my own creations until I felt more comfortable with the craft. I thanked him for his time, let him know that I’d return. At midday, Windhelm was at its warmest with the sun high in the sky and the chill of the air not quite as bitter. Stopping by Hillevi’s stand for a bite to eat, I strolled outside of the walls to eat a meal on the docks. I often sat at the edge of dock on cold, dark stones where the chill would almost seep past my thick coat and dress.

            Having never lived near water, it surprised me how fascinating I found it. The gentle swaying of the sea hypnotized me into a sense of calm. The White River certainly earned its name here with the chunks of ice floating lazily by but my map told me that it flowed from a lake near Falkreath in the south before making its journey to the colder parts into the Sea of Ghosts. I’d heard of Falkreath, famous for its large cemetery. Perhaps the souls of the dead flowed from the lake and upward in the river until reaching a large sea full of ghosts. I took a thoughtful bite out of some salted meat before a large crate dropping startled me.

            Nearly dropping my apple into the sea, I looked up to see an Argonian man curse in an unfamiliar tongue. Then he realized that I was near and began to apologize, “Sorry ‘bout that, slipped.” It looked like he was grinning sheepishly but it was hard to tell with his golden-scaled snout and pointed teeth. 

  
           

Glancing around, I suddenly realized how busy it had become, “Am I in the way?”

            “Nah,” he squat down to brace himself for the weight of the crate. “Only thing _xajhithi_ ‘round here is the speed that those Nords want the ship loaded and unloaded.”

            “ _Xajhithi_?” I tested the word out on my tongue, let it settle. It felt soft and sharp at the same time.

            He seemed surprised. “Study Jel? That’s the best I’ve ever heard a Man use it.”

            “Jel?”

            “Argonian tongue. That was pretty good,” he looked over his shoulder and cursed again. “Beg pardon but _Northern Maiden_ ain’t gonna ready itself.” And with that he rushed off. I turned my attention to the ship he had been talking about, observing the crew. All were unfamiliar faces and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen the ship at this dock. The man who appeared to the captain shouted orders at everyone else, pointing here and there and not letting anyone have a moment’s rest. I suddenly remembered Elda talking about one ship that made trips to parts of Morrowind but was the only one left that braved the treacherous journey.  She said that the other captains decided that vampires were enough of a risk but that this one lone ship saw an opportunity and took every job to transit across the Sea of Ghosts. Which meant that it did fewer trips with larger hauls.  
  
            Once I finished eating, I allowed my feet to swing freely. The water was nowhere near my boots so no danger of soaking my warm, expensive shoes. It had been a while since I’d been able to come out and enjoy the outdoors without it being too cold or too dark. But the time alone with my thoughts allowed my old worries to surface and plague me. I’d had no luck in finding any more information about Rook during my time here. In fact, it was almost as if she had never existed. Once I walked by the house she supposedly owned in Windhelm but it appeared empty. The only evidence that it was being cared for was the well-tended to garden outdoors but I could never figure out who was doing the work or who paid them. I didn’t dare speak any of her other names out of fear of being singled out.

            Sighing, I pulled the strange mask that I examined every night. Sleep found me while my fingers grazed the texture of strange shapes, the scoop of the edges. In daylight proper, the mask had a sickly yellow tint to it. I’d started to have thoughts of giving up and settling here in Windhelm. It wasn’t so bad. I had a decent job, everything seemed relatively safe. There wasn’t more to be done. I followed to the other end of Skyrim with little more than foolish hope and scarce clues. And now I was here. Rook had all but vanished from Tamriel and I was sitting on the edge of stone that was threatening to freeze my thighs solid. Sighing, I began to put the mask back in my bag.

            Until I heard a startled gasp behind me.

            “You aren’t with those lunatics, are you?”

            My heart raced. The man behind me had long blond hair and a long, thin face. Worry was written across his face.  
  
            “Are you saying you recognize this?” I nearly leapt from my position, practically thrusting the mask into his chest. “You know who this belongs to?” A lump in my throat wouldn’t settle quietly, causing my words to choke and pause.  
  
            The Nord nodded solemnly. “Aye. Was a bit ago, but I remember plain as day. Whole crew of ‘em. Dressed in strange robes and speaking strangely. I suppose they settled in Skyrim because I never saw them again.” He absent-mindedly scratched at his arm, his voice still slowly drawling out his story. My nerves were so on edge that I thought I might actually shout at him, shake him by his shoulders. But he didn’t continue and instead looked out to the river.

            “And then what? Did you ever hear about the Dragonborn?”

            “Ha! That woman, I swear. We brought her to Solstheim and one year later forces us to bring her back main land only to run off before we even touch the shore. Didn’t bother to pay us the full amount. Captain Salt-Sage wasn’t right happy ‘bout that.”

            _She’s alive? Here in Skyrim?_ “Where? Where did she go?”

            The dockhand gave me a confused expression. “How in Oblivion should I know? Whatever happened on Solstheim must have been quite a mess because those damned elves didn’t shut up about it for months.”

            “Why? What happened?” At this point I was close to hanging off of his shirt. “ _Please_ , it’s important!”

            He snarled at me. “Gods damn, I don’t know, girl. Ask the elves.”

            And a mad idea took me. “How much? I mean, how much would it be to go to Solstheim with your cargo?”

            “Up to the captain, I suppose. I just help steer the ship.”

            Without a moment’s hesitation, I raced to the boat and hopped onto the platform causing me to nearly run into another deckhand who cursed at me. I didn’t care. Rook was alive and something had happened to her. All I needed was to find whoever could tell me exactly _what_ and I’d be able to get back on her trail. “Captain Salt-Sage!” I called out to the man. “Captain!”

            The Nord glanced my way before ordering an Argonian to move a crate. “What?” he finally addressed me.  
            “How much for a trip to Solstheim?” the question came out breathlessly.

            Salt-Sage’s only response was to groan. “Gods damn. Is that place becoming popular again? First the Dragonborn and then Dunmer. I’m a cargo ship not a travel vessel.”

            Pursing my lips, I crossed my arms. “How much?”

            He considered me, looking at my dress and my stature. “You can’t afford it.”

            “I’ll give you everything I have!” I blurted out, digging out every last coin my fingers could grab onto. No time to think and no time to worry about what I’d do for money when I arrived to Solstheim. “ _Please_!”

            This time, Salt-Sage sighed as if the conversation were becoming too painful for him to bear. “What’s there for you anyhow? Nice girl like you shouldn’t be out traveling the outposts of Morrowind.”

            “I have my reasons,” and then, once more, “How. _Much?_ ”

            He shook his head. “You’re making a mistake but if you’re that in a hurry to waste your money, you give me everything you’ve got. We head out tomorrow morning before dawn. Don’t be late because we won’t wait. And I’ll take your money now. Learned my lesson the hard way.”

            I couldn’t shove the gold into his hands fast enough.

            Tomorrow, I could finally get back to searching after months of nothing.

            _Solstheim._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like Sissel is about to take a journey to a familiar place: Solstheim. Aventus also pops up-- he's not shown up in Relentless yet but I can definitely say that he's a big reason Rook's life takes the direction it does. I've written just a bit about their relationship in drabble format so if you've read that, then you'll know alchemist wasn't his first career choice (although, if you've not read it, I can say that it DEFINITELY was Rook's decision).
> 
> And look at how quickly Sissel is picking up on some pretty esoteric languages that most Men don't touch. She's pretty clever--such a shame that she came from a home that beat her and belittled her constantly. Since she's about to head to Morrowind I bet that'll be handy (or cause problems?).
> 
> I'm really behind on the kudo thanks so sorry for the repeats but thanks to praeeunt, Opheliad, Catori1207, Lyraine, and EroSlackerMicha for leaving kudos--as well as a bunch of lovely guests! Thanks for praeeunt for your detailed and thoughtful comment!
> 
> Alright! Next chapter we'll be back to Solstheim! Just to give you guys a heads up, I'm alternating the updated schedule so that I update Relentless and Leading the Blind every other week so next week we'll get a Relentless update! Thanks for reading! --Ash


	5. Sissel

My body bent over the railings for the tenth time that morning and I heaved. Since boarding the ship a few days ago, my ability to eat had been limited to an occasional bite of bread and mostly water. Resting on my knees, I rested my head on my arms against the edge of the boat. Lygrleid and Sogrlaf, the deck hands, constantly gruffed at my sickness and complained that I was in the way. Salt-Sage’s kindness extended to the advice, “Close your eyes and stop staring at the water.”

            Every time I tried to stand, my dizziness got the better of me and I had to sit down again. Which made using the bucket that substituted as an outhouse even more difficult. I was drenched in sweat, my stomach constantly turning in on itself every time I breathed. My bedroll was the only safe place to be found. Worse, the seas were choppy this time of year so the captain kept changing his estimations for when we might arrive to the island.

            So, until then, I was stuck feeling like death. But I would often stare up at the sky, watching as the clouds changed from their familiar wispy, white to thicker, darker shapes. Even the color of the sky seemed to dull a bit the closer we got to the island. Lygrleid told me that it was because of the Red Mountain. In the center of Morrowind lay the large island Vvardenfell and in its center the Red Mountain steadily spewed ash that poisoned Vvardenfell and the waters around it. He assured me that we were far enough away that it was safe but I would occasionally glance out, see the faint shape of the large and looming volcano on the horizon.

            During the times I felt well enough to sit up, I would read over the spell books I had and a basic alchemy book that Aventus had sold me. Out of all the people I told about my leaving, he was the only one who gave me words of genuine support. Elda and Nils both acted as if the whole of Morrowind was plagued.

            “As if the Dunmer here weren’t bad enough!” Elda couldn’t hide the shock on her face, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “You want to go to their _homeland_? Mark my words, Sissel, the whole lot of them are good for nothing, lazy elves.”

            Nils nodded in quiet agreement. “Their home gets destroyed and they expect _us_ to give up _ours_? Ridiculous. We’ve got enough problems in Skyrim without a bunch of criminals and charity cases begging for what we barely have.”

            But they were understanding and wished me well regardless. Elda paid me for the week’s work and gave me some food to hold me over. I sold her the potion I made for a few Septims and prayed that it wouldn’t kill anyone. Sometimes my fingers would find the mask that had brought me on this trip. During the lull in their work, Sogrlaf had been able to help me piece together the story a little more clearly. The men in the masks and robes were pretty memorable because of the strange way they communicated with one another and had made him uneasy. But once they disembarked, they’d never been seen again. On their next trip to Solstheim, the Dragonborn had demanded they take her back from where those men had come from. I guessed that by this time they’d attacked her in Whiterun and failed to kill her. Then about a year later, she suddenly reappeared again and demanded they take her back to Windhelm and that she looked like death. But that had been it.

            The boat jerked violently and my stomach lurched. Throwing myself over the side again, I heaved but the only thing that my body expelled was more energy. My face felt numb, my head swam. This was Oblivion. Absolute Oblivion. I hung my arms and head downward so I could watch the sea being cut underneath us.

            _Ugh. This is worse than the carriages and bumpy roads._

            But it only took a couple of days more and the island came into view. I’d survived a four day journey across the Sea of Ghosts and was rewarded with the sight of town walls protecting a small settlement: Raven Rock. From what I understood, the outpost was old and had been failing until a few years ago. Mining brought some life back into the place which meant more opportunity for trade. The only complaint the _Northern Maiden_ had was that the competition from Morrowind proper had increased. With the vampire problem in Skyrim and Raven Rock’s sudden success, Dunmer merchants were more willing to do business in the settlement.

            Luckily, the dock was empty when we finally made landfall. My first order of business was to stumble to the pier on my shaky legs. As I steadied myself, a Dunmer with a tired face and long, greying hair studied me. A book in one hand and a quill in another, he pulled his face down in disapproval. “You aren’t part of the regular crew.”

            Tugging at my knapsack and straightening the thick braid I’d gathered my hair in, I did my best to muster a bright smile. “No, I’m just a traveler here to find a… friend.” That seemed as good as any excuse.

            He returned my welcome with a slight sneer. “I am Adril Arano, Second Councilor to Lleril Morvayn. Mind yourself in Raven Rock, outlander.  This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws.  Questions?”

            I stared at him, a little intimidated by his curt and to the point manner. Perhaps appealing to his station would help me. “Oh, um. Second Councilor? You must know everything that goes on here. It sounds like you’re a busy man.”

            As if to strengthen my point, the Second Councilor nodded and glanced down at his book, marking numbers and telling the crew where to drop off one of the crates. “Why, yes. Councilor Morvayn is House Redoran's representative on Solstheim. As second councilor, it's my job to support him and make certain his rule is enforced.” He marked something else down and then brought a fist down onto the page, looking toward the town and beaming with pride. “This isn't exactly the city of Blacklight. We're on the frontier out here, and we've had _more_ than a fair share of troubles. After all we've been through together, I _refuse_ to let Councilor Morvayn down.”

            The second councilor was _very_ serious about his job. But it seemed like the more I asked him, the chattier he was inclined to be. Instead of immediately asking him something else, I allowed Councilor Arano to record more numbers and talk to Salt-Sage. While waiting, I pretended to busy myself with looking back out at the sea that had caused my stomach so much trouble and tried to peek into the town itself. It seemed fairly busy this time of day. As the Dark Elf closed his book, I followed him back into town.

            “I don’t know much about Morrowind or Blacklight,” I started, my pace quickening to match his own. Second Councilor Arano didn’t seem too concerned with slowing down but still talked with me.

            “Ah, well. Your ignorance of our homeland doesn't surprise me. It's the capital of Morrowind. Has been ever since Mournhold was sacked by the Argonians. I don't visit there often anymore, but we still get the occasional supply ship and visitors from there. Especially since the mines opened back up.”

            We walked past the town gates and the moment my thick boots left the wood pier, my feet began to lose what balance they had gained. Glancing down, I was startled to find ash. He stopped for a bit to let me adjust. I bent down to tie my boots but looked back up at him, hoping my smile would keep him talking. “The Argonians? I would have never thought that they’d try invading anywhere.”

            “Yes, well, quite a while ago, yes. They cut a bloody swath across most of the southern region of Morrowind. Nobody seems certain why it happened... an attempt at expansion, revenge for the enslavement of their people or perhaps both. Whatever the case may be, thousands of Dunmer needlessly lost their lives and many more were exiled from their homeland.”

            “Oh, that’s terrible.” I frowned sympathetically, genuinely saddened by the story. “I’m sorry.”

            The Councilor waved off my concerns and pointed at his book. “Years and years ago. Nord like you wouldn’t care too much about the details. If you’ve nothing else important you need of me, I must be off. We’ve a ship from Blacklight coming in a few days and there’s a lot to do before then. If you’re looking for lodgings and food, I’d suggest The Retching Netch,” he pointed in the opposite direction of where we were headed. “Just on the right there. Watch yourself, outlander.”

            And with that, I was left alone. I was sure I looked ridiculous but everything looked so _strange_. All of the buildings were stout and layered with arches. Everything seemed so muted in color, the ash seemed to leave nothing untouched. Most of the people seemed to be gathered farther down so I wandered, hoping to get my bearings quickly. As soon as I made myself known, the stares of the red-eyed Dunmer made me nervous. No one said anything to me but I heard a strange language all around me. In fact, most glanced at me, stared a bit too long, and then went about their business. But some continued to stare. Not one word of Common.

            It made me uncomfortable until I heard the familiar sound of an anvil. The man behind the workbench looked like me. My anxiousness began to disappear. I waved and rushed to his shop. He didn’t stop working immediately but rather took his time finishing. When he did meet me, the look of annoyance on his face was unmistakable.

            “Lemme guess,” his deep accent began, “you need some armor.”

            I laughed nervously. “No, uh, just a bit lost. I’m looking for The, uh, Retching Netch. Is that right?”

            The large, bald Man nodded and pointed across from where we were. “There she is. But, fair warning, this place doesn’t get a lot of visitors. And the last person who wasn’t an elf left a bitter taste in this town’s mouth. I’d be careful if I were you.”

            I bit my lower lip. Was there nowhere I could go without being warned about some sort of danger to my well-being? “Well, thank you.” I stuck out my hand but he didn’t give his. Slowly, I brought it down and fiddled with my fingers. “I’m, um, Sissel. Of Rorikstead.”

            The blacksmith arched an eyebrow, clearly disinterested in my greeting. “Glover Mallory. Only blacksmith in town if you need some armor or weapons.” His voice didn’t sound convinced that I’d ever need such things but something else did perk my interest.

            “Mallory?” my voice went a bit too high-pitched with my interest. “Do you know an Elisa Mallory?”

            At the mention of the name, Glover’s face went from annoyance to confusion. “Not every Mallory in Tamriel knows one another.” 

            My heart fell. I’d succeeded in coming across as a complete fool. “Right. I’ll be off then.” His gaze didn’t move and my face burned hot with embarrassment. “Sorry.” And I quickly scampered off. Gods. Maybe the long trip and my weak sea legs were getting to me. My feet kept sinking awkwardly in the ash. More Dunmer started at me. My eyes found other things to observe as I made my way to what I hoped was the inn. I couldn’t read any of the signs, everything written in strange symbols. I was tired. Nothing was familiar. My stomach growled.

            A tall soldier in strange armor stood guard in front. The way he kept an eye on me made my nerves stand on edge as I carefully opened up the door. Instead of relaxing, I felt even more uncomfortable. Not even the buildings looked normal here. I’d walked onto a floor in the shape of a horseshoe with a cooking hearth in the center. Immediately in front of me was a staircase leading downward. Sighing, I dragged myself down the stairs since no one was around on the first floor. Downstairs was obviously the main floor.

            “This is so confusing,” I mumbled quietly to myself. The only person around was a server behind the bar. The elf stopped wiping down the counter to give me a sympathetic glance. I prayed that he spoke something I could understand.

            “Well, a visitor?” he grinned. “This is certainly a nice surprise. Welcome to The Retching Netch, m’lady. Geldis Sadri, at your service.”

            The weakest smile I could muster felt pathetic. Common tongue. Trudging to the bar, I slumped into a seat and rest my head in my crossed arms against the counter. My legs felt weak. “I’m Sissel. Of Rorikstead,” the words weakly left me, as if it was my destiny to mutter them to each person I met. “And I’m tired and hungry and my feet keep slipping and why are there _elves everywhere_?” My eyes widened as soon as the question left my mouth and I stared at Geldis.

            He cocked his mouth to one side in amusement. Slowly, he leaned in close and beckoned me to come closer with one finger. “M’dear,” the Dunmer whispered. “I hate to break this to you but this is _Morrowind_.” He chuckled to himself. “What on Nirn did you expect?” He returned to wiping down the counters but reached underneath and produced a plate with some strange food on it.

            A bit rudely, I poked at it. A bit soft, it felt like a potato. “Ummm. Uh. _Thanks_?”

            Geldis gave me a softened expression, his deep red eyes crinkling around their edges. “It’s a boiled ash yam. As you have already noticed, ash is everywhere so we grow what we can from it. Family moved into the old Attius Farm just outside of Raven Rock about a year ago and they grow all of our produce. Damn fine job considering what we’ve got to work with.”

            Although not quite certain about the yam, I didn’t want to Geldis to think me ungrateful so I dutifully picked it up and took a small bite out of it. My mouth chewed slowly and deliberately as the strange, grimy texture sat on my tongue and went down my throat. “It’s… it’s, interesting.”

            Shaking his head, he smiled to himself. “Outlander, no need to pretend that you like it. Men are too soft for a place such as this.”

            I almost argued but didn’t have the strength or the evidence to counter him otherwise. “Thank you though. It just takes some getting used to, I’m sure.” I took another bite to prove my gratitude and was surprised to find the taste not completely without some good points. As I chewed, I finally took stock of the large dining area. There were a few smaller hallways that probably led to the rooms. Behind Geldis lay another door, brewing barrels, and—

            Something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye: a dull crimson splotch deeply stained on the counter close to my elbow. The unmistakable color and pattern of blood.

            “Don’t trouble yourself,” the Dark Elf interrupted my thoughts. “Bit of nasty business but it’s not a regular occurrence.”

            I nodded quietly but couldn’t quite tear my eyes away from the sight. Swallowing the last bit of food, my mind suddenly turned back to more practical thoughts. I was pretty sure the ash yam had been on the house but I had no money for a room or any more food. But Geldis seemed nice enough.

            Grimacing, my fingers traced the edges of the empty, wooden plate. The rough edges kept me occupied while my words stumbled from me. “I spent everything I had to get here,” I admitted in a low, hushed tone. “Is there any way I can work off room and board?”

            At first I thought Geldis would tell me to go beg on the streets, the look on his face had turned suddenly somber. His brow became heavily furrowed and his high, pointed ears perked a bit. Then his eyes searched me. I could feel his gaze taking in my messy, blonde hair with its stubborn thick and straight manner and my dress blotched with sun and age and salt water. As if he suddenly saw me for the first time, his surprised voice asked, “What in Oblivion is a Nord doing in Solstheim anyway? You hoping to trace back some family roots with the Skaal?”

            My blank stare was all the answer he needed. There were Men in Morrowind?

            “No matter, I suppose,” Geldis shrugged. “Your business if you want to hang around here. If you’re looking for work, this place is a mess after dinner. More people living here means more work to do. I’m exhausted by the time I can finally close.”

            My spirits lifted slightly. “Really?”

            “Certainly.” For a moment he left and disappeared in the backroom. When he reappeared with a broom and apron, I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t be able to rest until after all of my work was finished. But this was my only option. Reaching for the items, I asked for a room in advance so I could store my bag and wash up.

            Geldis handed me the key and offered me some advice, “Just ignore whatever anyone says this evening.”

* * *

 

            I’d have given anything to be back on the boat throwing up every minute. My muscles had aches inside and around and underneath and inside and all over. Was there ever a time standing _wasn’t_ painful? Geldis’ advice had become clear within the first hour of helping clear tables. The leftover customers were the drunkest. Every one of them pointed at me with their ashen grey skin and laughed loudly in the language I couldn’t understand. Every moment that my presence became known my heart would race waiting for the next unintelligible insult or accusing stare. I hadn’t done anything. I just wanted to work. Why wouldn’t anyone just let me _be_?

            A stack of plates and cups were precariously balanced on my two outstretched arms as I wove between two Dunmer who stumbled into my path. They yelled at me but I held back my tears and took a deep breath, focusing on not dropping anything. Candlehearth hadn’t been this unbearable and I worked all day. This had only been going on a few hours and I was ready to say Oblivion to it.

            But I needed a place to stay and I knew Rook wasn’t here. At some point I’d have to travel to find her again so I needed money. And information. As I slid past Geldis to the back room to wash more dishes, I cleared my mind and for the thousandth time recited the lessons I’d learned from Jouane, from my books. With each word that formed on my lips, I imagined that my motions weren’t to wash dishes but to cast a spell. Whenever the water got too cold, my breath blew out force and I did my damnedest to cast a fire spell. At times it worked with moderate success but I wouldn’t trust it to save me in the wilds.

            When Geldis finally came back, he gave me a weary look. “That’s the last of them. Good riddance. Must have been a rough day in the mines, people were especially rowdy.”

            “I couldn’t tell,” I grumbled and sloshed soapy, lukewarm water as I scrubbed some melted cheese off a wooden plate. “Why was everyone so rude?”

            Geldis rolled his eyes and crossed his arms but smirked. “Rude? You think that was rude? _Nords_.” The way he spit out that last word made me a little anxious. “I was kind enough to give you work here and you complain?”

            “That’s not what I meant!” I stopped washing. I stumbled over my words. “B-but they, well, it wasn’t fair and…” my face grew hot. “They were laughing at me and I couldn’t understand what they were saying!”

            “So,” he let that word hang for a moment as he nodded slowly in thought. “You expected a whole bunch of people to _not_ use their mother tongue on their motherland and _not_ take notice when a young Nord woman suddenly appears. Yes. That seems reasonable.”

            My mouth formed a tight, stubborn line. “Yes! I mean, no! I mean…” my hands clenched themselves. “I don’t know!”

            He chuckled a bit but before he could properly respond, a voice called out and he motioned for me to follow him. “C’mon then, poor girl. Sounds like Glover’s taking his break before spending a long night making tools for the miners. You at least drink, yes? I’ve got the best damn brew this side of Tamriel.”

            Following him dutifully, I dried my hands more than necessary on my apron. My face still felt hot and my mind still felt out of sorts. After making a fool of myself in front of Geldis, I would have to see Glover Mallory again who, I suspected, probably thought I was an idiot. Geldis handed me a tray of cups while he picked up a large container of the alcohol he’d been talking about.

            Glover nodded at him but raised his brow upon seeing me. “Well, if it isn’t Sissel of Rorikstead.” He sounded more than a little worn and his stare had lost some of its earlier intensity.

            Geldis looked back over his shoulder. “Ah, should have suspected that she’d have found you first in this place. Men.” He shook his head but grabbed a chair at the table. I followed suit. He poured drinks for all of us but while the two men took the stuff in with large, deep gulps, I held it in one hand, examining it thoughtfully. My other hand stayed resting in my lap, playing with the apron. I sniffed the white liquid suspiciously and took a careful sip.

            Fire! Liquid fire! I coughed and choked a bit. Glover and Geldis started laughing as I beckoned for water, ale, milk, _something_ other than this poison. Geldis took pity on me and gave me a slice of bread. As he sat back down, I asked, “What in Oblivion was _that?_ ”

            “My own special blend of sujamma!” Geldis beamed.

            Glover took another sip of his. “Guaranteed to knock down at least one person out of three.” Something about that amused him and he laughed heartily. “Gods, it’s been a while since we’ve drank with three. Do you remember those two weeks that Teldryn was stuck here and he insisted on doing this _every night_?”

            Geldis, obviously getting just as tipsy as Glover, laughed loudly and slammed his hand on the table. “Oh _gods._ By the end of that first week, I didn’t think he’d make it back to Blacklight alive.” He continued to pour himself and Glover another round but I simply sat back quietly and took a smaller, slower sip.

            Ugh. This stuff was horrible.

            Caught up in reminiscing about whoever they were talking of, both sat back in their chairs and continued to swap stories and laugh. From the sounds of it Teldryn was a drunk whose activities included gambling, taking on dares to jump into the sea completely naked, and crying over some woman.

            “Gods damn,” Glover smirked into his third or fourth cup of sujamma. “It’s been what, over a year? I bet you anything he’s in Blacklight still brokenhearted and drunk.”

            Geldis scrunched his nose and shook his head, “Naaaah. He just needed to get it out of his system. Before she showed up, he was wasting away here. Had been for the better part of a decade. I bet he misses the adventure more than her. Wouldn’t blame him after the stunt she pulled.”

            I glanced into my cup, not even half-empty. The entire time I’d been listening, my head had been propped up by my arm with my cheek scrunched up such that my eye was partially closed. Yawning, I wondered why I even bothered to stay this long. I could have been finished with the dishes by now and in bed. Oh, bed. The idea sounded so nice that I almost got up to hurry my arrival to it but perhaps it was the sujamma finally taking hold that prompted me to ask, “Teldryn?”

            As if suddenly remembering that I was there, both Glover and Geldis turned their attention to me, startled out of whatever stories they’d been caught up in. “Oh, just a mercenary,” Geldis explained. He picked up the container but frowned. Turning it over, not a drop spilled. “Damn.” But then he turned his attention back to me. “He’s really not as bad as we’re making him out to be. Poor man.”

            “He got involved with a…” Glover squinted hard to think of a way to put whatever he was trying to break delicately. “Well, put it this way: he and his last patron were _very_ close and one day she suddenly ran off, no words for him.”          

            “To be fair,” the Dunmer interrupted. “I don’t think she was in her right mind. You saw her. Hadn’t seen either of them in weeks and she turns up after he says she’s dead and she almost _looks_ the part.” He took the last sip of whatever was in his cup and stared into its empty bottom. Wistfully, he added, “Damn shame. The way those two looked at one another… well,” he leaned in close and talked behind his hand but loud enough for anyone to hear. The smell of sujamma lingered tightly on his breath. “Between you and me…” and after that, his drunken state lost Common and he started speaking Dunmeris. Glover chuckled to himself but the only meaning I caught was the way he said the words. I only knew that it made blood rush to my face. It didn’t sound like it was meant for polite company.

            “You would know better than me,” Glover added.

            “Me?” Geldis snorted. “You and her were thick as thieves it seemed like.” For some reason _that_ made Glover laugh. Geldis shook his head again, shaking off the last vestiges of the night. A quiet, serious calm fell over the mirth. His voice suddenly serious, Geldis raised his cup in a toast with no ceremony. “C’mon Sissel of Rorikstead. You’ve come at a prosperous time for Raven Rock. A time that wouldn’t have been possible without those two. To the both of them!” He motioned for me to raise my own still-full glass. My fatigue was getting to me and I was ready to pass out.

            Glover raised his and smiled sadly, “If it weren’t for her, I’d still be under that strange cult’s spell.”

            “And if it weren’t for him, the mines wouldn’t have reopened!” Geldis clinked his cup against ours. “To Teldryn Sero!”

            “To Rook!” Glover finished off his own drink.

            I dropped mine on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Looks like Teldryn was more than a bit upset at Rook's leaving with no words for him. So upset, in fact, that he told Glover about how Rook was the Dragonborn and that's who saved him from being under Miraak's thrall. Sissel is just as stubborn as Rook, it might seem. She's spent a whole lot of gold and traveled a whole lot of miles just to get to this point and it isn't over yet for her. She's been saving money for years and spending it all in four months. Going to Solstheim was a big leap, a blind chance. Looks like it paid off... this time anyway. Another point of interest is how subtle bigotry, intolerance, and racism can sneak in without someone knowing it. It's easy to relate to Sissel's situation and feel sorry for her considering that she's putting her life on the line to find the Hero. And Sissel isn't one of the Stormcloaks but it's her fear of the unknown and being in a strange place that is so unlike what she's known that causes her to act in such a manner--the root of some bad bigoted ideas and words. Luckily, Geldis is kind with just a tinge of sarcasm. 
> 
> Raven Rock is doing good for itself though now. Lots of jobs, plenty of opportunity for growth. I imagine that one day the Dunmer will start settling further in-land and probably wonder what the hell Miraak's temple was all about. Good thing he's been taken care of though, right? Another reminder that Rook was not doing well when she left. I mean, she'd only been ripped in pieces after going through everything she had suffered. 
> 
> So, thank you all so much for being patient while I've been finishing the semester. A lot of you've left kudos and comments and I'm very sorry that I'm behind one who left what where. I'll be posting a new chapter of Relentless this Saturday and then next Saturday will be back on track with a new Leading the Blind... the first Teldryn chapter! Once again, thank you all for waiting. This summer is going to be very wild as I've got a Big Thing(TM) to do. I'm going to do my very best to stay on the weekly updates but no promises.
> 
> Thanks for reading! -Ash


	6. Teldryn

The gentle crashing of the sea along the coastline stirred me but the sound of a sailor’s bell ringing loudly as it left port to the Sea of Ghosts fully woke me. Opening my eyes turned out to be a mistake upon discovering the soft morning sun streaming brightly through my window.

            “This is what I get for buying a place this far up,” I complained to my empty home. Well, _home_ was putting it generously. It was one large room with a small stove, room for a bed, a few shelves built into the walls, and enough space for a couple of chairs and a table. But with space scarce in the large city, there weren’t a whole lot of options for someone who wanted to live closer to the sea in Blacklight. After the first six months upon returning, I’d established a routine. After a year, it was as if I’d never left to live in Skyrim or Solstheim. But being back home also meant visiting family now and again.

            Upon returning, both of my parents had been shocked to see me at the door of their house. Regardless, they were happy enough to see me and I’d discovered my brother hadn’t bothered to even send a courier by in over a decade. Typical Endryn, I supposed. At least _I_ sent them word that I was still alive every couple of years or so. Which left me as the only son they’d seen in a while and, more importantly, the only son here for the time being. Which meant that on a nice day like this, my father was bound to drop by and ask me to keep him company while he went shopping.

            Throwing my legs over the bed, I groggily pulled a shirt over my head and ignored the way the cold metal of the ring I wore as a necklace hit my chest. One would think that if it bothered me so much, I’d have just sold the damned thing by now. But I couldn’t part with it. I yawned, ran a hand down over my face. Better to just ignore it.

            Much like I had for over a year.

            Much like I had done my best to forcibly ignore _other_ things.

            The tin that held my father’s favorite tea was almost empty. The mixture of frost mirriam, lavender, and scathecraw wasn’t hard to make but I’d made enough money with my last patron that I could afford to buy it at the market. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, I scolded myself for the thought. I had gold. Who cared how I’d gotten it? I surely didn’t. But as I lit a fire under a kettle of water, my mind wouldn’t stop remembering some of the ways I’d acquired it. Perhaps a year wasn’t enough time. Maybe I had to wait two years. Three.

            “Maybe it’ll be three hundred before I stop having this bloody conversation with myself,” I addressed the cups I was pulling off of a shelf above my head. “This is ridiculous.”

            Carefully, I measured out the loose leaves into one cup and stopped myself from reaching for a bottle of flin to pour for myself. It was too early to be drinking anyway, especially expensive stuff. Instead I prepared myself a cup of tea as well; not overly fond of it, at least I could take comfort in knowing I wasn’t wasting away and drinking myself to death. I’d done enough of that before I’d gotten here. Very well enough. While the water boiled, I went out to the open window to lean out and look out on the morning.

            Neither Skyrim nor Solstheim could hope to offer this sort of view. The entire city below me beneath tiered neighborhoods and staircases was slowly waking up as well. Some of the local vendors were setting up shop while the dockhands shouted at one another, awaiting the arrival of ships. The new sun glittered in soft pinks and oranges against the sea while the cool air brought in new ships. Gods. I would never tire of this sight. But I knew that I would eventually feel the need to get out again. Maybe it wouldn’t be for another fifty years but it would happen. I’d begin to wonder what more was going on elsewhere, if it was more exciting and filled with more adventure. Last year reminded me all too well of why I’d left Blacklight in the first place.

            “And just like that, I’ve managed to break my vow,” I muttered to the new day ahead of me. One hand ran roughly through my hair as I sighed. “Teldryn Sero: best swordsman in all of Morrowind if he could only manage to get off his arse and stop crying over spilt ale. At your service.”

            Glancing over my shoulder, I spotted the only crate I owned. It held everything about Solstheim I wanted to forget. My armor, my sword. Other things. I’d sold the Stalhrim armor I once owned back in Raven Rock. Which is what I _should_ have done with the ring around my neck which I could feel as I strained to look behind me. I closed my eyes and lowered my head in annoyance.

            “Today is an absolute loss on that front,” I admitted loudly to myself. Some were better than others but I’d already let my mind wander too far to rein it back in.

            “Oh, don’t be so ready to sheath the sword before you’ve fully used it!” a voice from directly below me startled me out of my thoughts. I found my father waving at me from a level below, grinning widely. The sea air whipped at his dark, long hair even though it was tied back.

            I returned his wide grin, raising my brow in mock surprise. “Well, look who we have here! My old man—a marvel he can get up these steps at his age.”

            He laughed, continuing to make his way past a few people walking across the side roads and up yet another flight of steps. Blacklight certainly wasn’t for the lazy with its high risen neighborhoods and mountain-formed city walls closing in like fingers around a palm. “Nice to see you up so early,” he called over to me.

            I made my way to the door, my feet kicking at a rug to straighten a few wrinkles out of it. There wasn’t really a need as my father let himself in, immediately reaching to catch me in a hard embrace. “Oof! Good morning to you as well. What’s got you so ready to take on the Empire?”

            Pushing me away just enough to take me in but still keeping my shoulders in his grasp, my father shook his head, still grinning. “Oh, Teldryn, I’m just happy to see my son this beautiful morning! My _one_ , _good_ son.” He grabbed me again to hug me.

            I rolled my eyes but returned his affections, patting his back. “I’m sure Endryn is just busy out…” desperately, I searched for something to say that wouldn’t cause our father to spend the day complaining about my brother’s lack of contact. “Well, you know, out and about fighting off the next big horde or maybe he’s been hired by an extremely wealthy patron who is keeping him _extremely_ busy.”

            Much to my chagrin, that didn’t help. My father continued to go on about the issue. This was a regular discussion which didn’t help my nerves either. I’d traveled back here to find my brother to discover that he, once again, had decided to vanish off the face of Nirn.

            Much like Rook.

            At _that_ thought, I audibly groaned without considering that my father was still paying attention to me. A whole year and her _name_ still caused me grief.

            “Everything okay?” his worry sat heavy in his dark red eyes and his high-arched brow. “I didn’t mean to start complaining straight away this morning.” He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I thought that I’d at least wait until after breakfast.”

            Waving away his concern, I turned my attention to the now boiled water and began to pour, allowing the leaves to begin steeping. In the time I’d taken up residency here, I’d become quite skilled at making tea to make my father happy. “Oh, not you. Something else.”

            Now beside me, my father peered over his long, broad nose to examine my handiwork. “Where in Azura’s name did you purchase this?” he sniffed the steam coming from his cup. “Did you buy this from Varon? You _know_ how I feel about that man.”

            Oh, yes, I did indeed know how he felt about the man. In unison, we listed off the Varon’s qualities. “Overcharging, rude _swit_.” By myself, I added, “Telvon Sero, as your one good son, I know.” I carefully handed him his cup, grinning. “But Ralsa is the only other merchant who sells this blend and my arse isn’t walking all the way across Blacklight to make you happy.”

            We sat down at the table and I watched my father smirk at me as he sipped his tea, arching a brow. “Not like you don’t have the time. Not all of us can be fifty years young and wealthy enough to retire.” As he took a sip, his mouth pulled down in a playful frown. “But no, make your poor father suffer.”

            I snorted and took a gulp of my own tea. “I’m _so_ lucky to have a wonderful father who emotionally blackmails me over free tea. In which of your three hundred four years did you perfect that trick?”

            “Probably around year one hundred fifty, give or take,” he winked at me but continued to drink his tea without complaint.

            We sat in comfortable silence for a bit. My father appeared completely content, sitting and sipping his tea. At times he would smile and sigh happily before returning to his tea. After being gone for so long, I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed his company. This past year had been a bit painful but so many good things had happened as well.

            Suddenly, my father’s face grew somber and he asked, “So, would you like to talk about whatever’s bothering you today?”

            Except for _that_. Both he and my mother hadn’t been blind to my sudden quiet and how content I’d been to stay cooped up for long periods of time by myself. At first, my mother had been the nosiest constantly asking, “Man or woman?” but then she’d settled into silent fuming that sounded more like, “You just tell me whose knees I need to break and I’ll be there with my biggest war hammer.” Both me and her husband tried to point out she could barely pick up a war hammer much less _wield_ one but she’d insisted. “I’m the quartermaster for the gods damned Fighter’s Guild! I’ll get one of _them_ to break someone’s knees!”

            Offering him a sardonic smile, I rolled my eyes. “Everything is _absolutely_ perfect. Mom’s putting ideas in your head.”

            He shrugged. “Fine, fine. At least I can tell her I made an attempt. Azura knows that she won’t stop asking _me_ how you’re doing.”

            “What? She doesn’t like visiting me?” I cocked a knowing smile.

            “You _know_ how she feels about heights,” he tapped his cup and I immediately sat my own down to pour him more water. “Suspicious your choice in living conditions.”

            As the steam rose from the cup, I wondered myself if I hadn’t done this on purpose on some, unknowing level of my mind. My mother tugged at my heartstrings easier probably because her work as the caretaker of the Fighter’s Guild weapons forced me to cherish the time I spent with her as a child. Whenever we were together, I opened my heart fully to her so that she could get as much of me as she could. As the home caretaker, dad was always around and always available. If my mother could visit as frequently as my father did, I would have probably been crying on her shoulder within the first few months. When we did see one another, we got so wrapped up in catching up that by the time I left, there was no time for extra prodding.

            Dad looked out the window and gave me a knowing smile. “Ah, well, I know how much you hate having the same conversation every time I’m here. How about I save you from your misery and you help me do some shopping?”

            Chuckling to myself, I shook my head. “Spitting image of Saint Jiub, you are.”

            “I know,” he grinned. “I promise I won’t drag you to the lower market today. We can stay in this part of the city and you’ll only have to carry two baskets.”

            Rolling my eyes, I stood up to put out the fire. Busying myself with cleaning up what little mess there was, my mind briefly wondered if the old man had some ulterior motive for not dragging me to his preferred vendors. “This side? What’s the occasion?”

            “Occasion?” he asked innocently, his eyes wide and his hand pressed to his chest in offense. Walking to stand beside me, he straightened out his robes. “Can’t I just make my son’s life easier without being accused of something?”

            “No,” I responded flatly, my concentration focused on cleaning the now-empty tea tin out. “In fact, I’m even _more_ suspicious now that you’ve pulled out a more ridiculous excuse.”

            Almost too quickly he held his hands up, closed his eyes, and pulled his face down in false contrition. “Oh, I feel so horrible deceiving you like this—”

            “—I’m sure you do.”

            “But my dearest love has sent me to ask you for a favor.”

            Dragging my hand down my face, I groaned, “Oh, Boethiah, Azura, and Mephala. A favor for _mom_? I’d rather we just go to Ralsa’s for your tea.”

            He hugged me tightly. “I know, son. I know. It’s small though. She’s missed you with you under this self-imposed house arrest and with her, well, being her. Just make her happy.”

            Breathing in deeply, I embraced my father in return as if we were both working to soothe one another’s sorrow over something deep and important. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

* * *

 

            Regret was a gross understatement of the situation.

            “Mother, your _grip_!” I gasped. “I rather enjoy breathing and all the benefits that come with it.” After a long afternoon helping my father complete his errands, I’d committed the rest of my day to being Nidryne Sero’s junior quartermaster as her usual charge had been sick all week. Unfortunately, she’d been excited about catching up with me as well.

            “Teldryn!” she planted a loving kiss on my forehead and then hugged me again. Either years of hauling around heavy weapons and bossing around large men had made her grip iron clad or this past year of sitting around had made me soft. “It’s been a few weeks, I’ve missed you!”

            As she straightened out the cuirass of her light armor, I kissed her cheek. “You miss me so much that you make dad spy on me.”

            “Oh,” she cupped her cheeks and beamed. “You’ve noticed!”

            I fiddled with the clasp of a gauntlet, glancing at her. “You two are the definition of subtlety.” Yanking on the strap of the opposite gauntlet, I almost wished I’d just worn my own set of armor. It had been a while but the Fighter’s Guild wasn’t exactly well-stocked with anything nearly as comfortable.

            She huffed and crossed her arms in obvious frustration. “Would it absolutely _kill_ you to tell us what’s going on with you? One surly, absent son is enough but to have a surly, present one? It makes one wonder if—”

            A large, familiar _clang_! of metal on stone startled us both but while I jumped, my mother snapped to attention and boomed, “ _WHO_ ON NIRN DROPPED THAT LONGSWORD? AND, YES, I KNOW IT’S A LONGSWORD SO DON’T BOTHER TRYING TO USE SOMETHING ELSE TODAY! I _SWEAR_ , IF ONE OF YOU LIE TO ME—” and with that she stormed off into the main fighting hall, still yelling at what was probably a room full of grown men ready to piss themselves. An uncontrollable burst of laughter erupted from me as I heard a few of them mumble excuses in deep voices to a woman who was much shorter than them but succeeding at solidifying some lifelong trauma regarding swordplay. I waited patiently, smiling widely as my mother’s voice scolded experienced fighters for shoddy work.

            When she stomped back in return, her face lit up upon seeing my own bemused expression. I gave her arm a quick squeeze and beamed, “ _Gods_ , I love you.”

            Making a show of fixing her hair, held back in a tight bun, she pursed her lips in a small and delicate smile. “Oh, my darling, you are too kind.” She reached out to kiss my cheek but became serious again, keeping a hold of my chin such that I was bending down to meet her at eye level. “But I’m serious. Ever since you’ve come back, you’ve not been your usual self. I’m worried.”

            “I know,” I mumbled. “But holding onto my face isn’t going to make you or me feel any better.”

            She squinted at me but eventually let me go. “C’mon. Let’s see if your lazy arse remembers how to take care of an axe.” She ribbed me gently. We strolled into the main hall and she pointed out a few of her favorite fighters. “Although, honestly, I taught you and Endryn _much_ better. Some of these boys are just hopeless. And there are no women! Not even any outlanders. In all of my years, I swear it’s never looked so depressing.”

            Crossing her arms, she relaxed into one her hips so that it jutted out as she watched a few of the fighters spar. Her gaze never left the men as they swung at one another, weapons banging against each other. Occasionally she’d shout at someone across the room even though I hadn’t even noticed anything. I began to suspect that my mother’s call for help was more a request for my company as she asked me how the last few weeks had been.

            “I’ve gotten a lot of reading done.” I spent a good portion of my days reading now. I would buy books, sell them, and then use the money to buy more books. Over the past year, my tastes changed wildly; at times I consumed dry history while the next day I’d be reading about Hammerfell religion.  
            “You are truly your father’s son,” she replied bitterly.

            “Don’t be like that,” I kept an eye on the fighters as well, watching their footwork. One elf was so sloppy that he constantly tripped over himself anytime his opponent overpowered him. “I’m just catching up. No time for books when you’re clearing out one bandit camp after another.” It sounded true enough. Really, reading was a way to keep my mind from running off into thoughts I had specifically told it not to wander into. It wasn’t really my flagon of ale, constantly reading. I would have much rather been out earning coin and swinging my own sword.

            “WATCH YOUR _GODS DAMNED_ FORM, YOU IDIOT!” The same elf who had been tripping over himself was doing some considerable damage to the weapon he was holding because in order to block, he was having to twist the weapon in such a way that the other sword began chipping at the edge. “Might as well count that blade as already lost,” mom muttered.

            Sighing, I patted her sympathetically on the back. Rubbing between her shoulder blades, my head shook and I lowered my eyes. “You’ve really got your work cut out for you here.”

            “You’re telling me.” She finally turned to give me an expectant look. “I’m going to assume you’ll be declining any dinner invitations I make?”

            I flashed her a brilliant smile. “And you, being the perfect mother, won’t hold it over my head.”

            She pressed her mouth firmly in such a way that it seemed like she was holding something back but eventually, her face softened and her brow furrowed in silent concern. To make her feel better, I bumped her hip with mine. “Oh, come on. You know that _at least_ three times a week I sit at home alone, gazing up at the sky, and pining after my lost love. The stars provide a safe solace. You’ve just caught me on a busy night.”

            Her mouth opened fell and her eyes widened but before she could say anything, I held up a hand to stop her.  
            “I jest, I _jest_.” My arm wrapped around her shoulder and I gave her a quick squeeze. “Tomorrow,” I promised. “But only because I know dad bought crab and expensive alcohol.”

            “You are truly the son I don’t deserve,” she drawled.

            Despite the distractions, my mind wandered again. For the briefest of moments, I was remembering a meal that Rook and I had tried cooking together while camping outdoors one evening but that we botched so spectacularly we ended up eating roasted apples for supper. I thought my face was expressionless but I must have lost my focus watching the fighters because I caught my mother watching _me_ with an expression of concern drawn clearly on her face.

            I didn’t say anything to her but she nodded before quietly turning her attention back to the men in the center.

            “Jesting my arse,” I thought I heard her mumble.

* * *

 

            By the time I arrived home, the stars hung high in the sky. Only Secunda was visible and not even fully so. It provided for little light on the walk home but the busy streets of Blacklight were still alight and alive early in the evening. My mother let me off relatively easy, only requesting I haul the weapons around. She hardly trusted her regular junior quartermaster to help her polish and sharpen the weapons so she wasn’t about to let me stand-in. On the way back, I bought supper from a corner vendor and took my time eating, walking along the water’s edge.

            Everything was as I’d left it. The kettle lay cold on the countertop. The empty tin waited for me to refill it. The candles I used at night stood on the table, dark. I didn’t even move from my doorway taking it all in. This was it. My life the past year, give or take. A quiet house. My family’s concern. A complete lack of interest in anything beyond existing. A very empty bed. Some nights I could dutifully dust off a book and read until I bored myself to bed but other nights—not often—I succumbed to the inevitable.

            Pulling a chair to the one window that offered me a look at the world, I rested my head in my hand and watched the night sky. Nothing in particular held my interest and it was far too noisy below for me to allow myself to become fully immersed but some part of it reminded me of nights on Solstheim, before things had gone too badly. Once or twice, I’d mouth her name on my lips, trying out the name I had not been able to use as often as I’d hoped. But there were lulls in the nightlife below and in those tiny pockets of time, I’d be able to fully remember something.

            “Once, and just _once_ , mind you,” Rook pointed a stick she’d been using to draw in the ground at me. “I slept in a tree out of fear instead of necessity—.”

            “You?” I shoved her playfully. “I refuse to believe it. Mighty Dragonborn too afraid to sleep in the dirt?”

            But she’d grown quiet and somber. “I was much younger and nowhere near being the Dragonborn.”

            I remembered the way she had said ‘much younger’ and hadn’t given it a second thought about exactly _how much_ younger she meant. But I didn’t comment on it. Instead, I asked, “Alright, so you spent the night in a tree but what made you come down?”

            “The stars,” she gazed upward at the night sky on the island, getting lost in the starlight streaked across the lush dark sky.

            I’d watched her while she looked up, taking note of the way she seemed to be entranced. I’d recalled a conversation we’d had about birthsigns that didn’t get far so I wasn’t terribly shocked at her interest. “The stars, hmm?”

            “Mmhmm. I couldn’t see them as well through the leaves.” Her hands raked through her wild and dark hair. “When I was little, my father and I used to watch the stars all the time. They’d come out and I’d drag him from whatever he was doing so we could find the Serpent.”

            I listened intently, not wanting to break her sudden openness.

            “But we never could,” she’d whispered. “Of course, I know better now but it was always so lonely. Every season I’d watch the Warrior, the Lover, the Tower, the Ritual, and so on. But we never once caught the Serpent.”

            “Why were you so interested in that?” I’d asked stupidly.

            She smirked at me. “You really can’t figure it out?”

            But I’d realized it by the time she asked me. “Ah. Well, that’s to be expected with you being a Hero and all, no?”

            As if she’d never thought about it before, her eyes went back up to heavens. Quiet. Thoughtful. “He always told me that those born under the Serpent were the most blessed.”

            But she didn’t have to tell me the rest of the story because everyone knew the Serpent and its unpredictable ways. “And the most cursed.” As soon as the words had left my mouth, I would have given anything to take them back.

            A shriek of surprise from below broke my attention. I yawned. It was late and there was no avoiding tomorrow. No point in pretending that I was going to read or clean or any number of things I found to do when I got like this. Instead I took off my shirt and laid on top of my covers in bed—it was cool enough that I kept my breeches on. My fingers traced the ring around the cord tied around my neck. This was such foolishness. Such absolute and utter foolishness for me to still be like… _this_. I wanted nothing more than to pretend like none of it ever happened and my mind refused to oblige me.

            After what seemed like hours, I finally relaxed and felt my eyelids grow heavy. Sleep was about the only thing I truly enjoyed now but it was coming at a high cost. My parents were worried. I was just sitting around, doing nothing. I couldn’t do this forever. But, then again, it wasn’t the first time I’d had these thoughts. I’d just push them out of the way to function during the day until they resurfaced at night and then I’d push them down again with sleep. Nothing more to—

            A loud knock at my door jarred me and I sat straight up in bed. Strangely enough, the rush of blood and energy was almost a welcome change to the emptiness I’d been experiencing as of late but I was also quite aware of how dangerous the city could be. But before I grabbed my sword, I listened and thought I heard quiet sobbing.

            “What in Oblivion?” I whispered to myself. Not sure what to think, I grabbed my sword just in case. It felt strange to hold the golden hilt in my hand again, the weight of it familiar yet foreign all at once.

            My feet took care to land softly against the floor and I crouched, glancing every now and then at the window to make sure no one was going to break in that way. I made it to the door. My hand took a hold of the handle and I took in a deep breath, steadying myself for anything and everything.

            Everything but a red-eyed woman who shrieked in terror upon seeing my sword. The sword dropped from my hand and it clattered to the floor. Almost immediately, I could hear my mother making some smart comment about it but in the face of… well, whatever was going on here, I couldn’t be bothered to care.

            My eyes wide and my mouth straight, I was in shock. Any time the young woman tried speaking, she just burst out into tears again. Her thick, blonde hair was loose around her shoulders and in need of some serious attention. The dress she wore seemed to be worse off with holes and tatters on one side. Her face, while red, seemed alright. And there I stood, wordless. Shirtless. Suddenly, I realized that someone around me might misread the situation and I became a little frustrated at the girl for putting me in the situation. Hastily, I grabbed her by the elbow and jerked her inside. It caused her to cry some more but I immediately threw a hand over her mouth.

            “Now then,” I began, making sure to keep my eyes on hers. “This might be terribly rude of me but _who are you_ and _why_ are you crying at _my_ door in the middle of the gods damned night?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well then, wonder who that young lady is at Teldryn's door? Speaking of Teldryn, seems like his heart is more than a bit broken (even if he won't say as much). His mother has seen him go through heartaches with all of his previous partners (man or woman) so she's fiercely protective. And how much do you love Telvon and Nidryne? I adore those two and their interactions. Kinda crappy of Endryn to make them worry but, then again, when Dunmer's lives are so much longer than Men's, it probably wouldn't be unusual for families to go a decade or so without contact. I probably won't mention it in the story, but Nidryne used to be a mercenary before finding work with the Fighter's Guild. Telvon was probably a scholar into adventuring. We can pretend they met when he hired her for a job and then they fell in love (I mean, who WOULDN'T fall in love with Nidryne?).
> 
> This was supposed to go up Saturday but my beta is still swamped with schoolwork and her exams come first! I've got some time so i went ahead and revised this chapter and am posting it so that I can spend time working on the code for the fic website.
> 
> Thanks to some lovely guests who left kudos on the last chapter! Next time? I guess Teldryn and this mysterious young lady are going to have a chat. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	7. Teldryn

To Oblivion with any sort of cup or mug. The weight of the flin bottle shifted as I turned it upside down to take a swallow of the rich, fiery drink. I had taken several deep breaths and several drinks to reach some semblance of calm. The same could not be said of the young, Nord woman who, while not as violently, was still sobbing. At most, I knew her name was Sissel and that she’d just been released from jail. Between the sniffling and the tears, I thought I’d heard something about Windhelm or Solstheim.

            For certain, she had said she was looking for _me_. More than a bit baffling.

            In a moment between her noises, I sat down across from her. I tipped the flin bottle toward her. “Sure you don’t want anything but water?”

            She bit her lower lip and shook her head. “N-no.” And then, as if we were old friends visiting, she added, “Thank you.”

            Sissel’s hands were wrapped around a cup of water, fingers intertwined. Her still-red eyes refused to move upward from the drink except to speak. It had taken a bit of time for her to settle into this softer distress and I feared any more inquiry might give her cause to lose what little composure she’d gained. The silence that now lay over my home allowed my mind to race as to what on Nirn this young lady could want with me. _Surely_ not my daughter. The last time I’d shared a bed with a Nord woman had been far more many seasons ago than Sissel certainly had. Was I old enough to have sired _grandchildren_? I hated to think that I was _that_ old but I often forgot that the lives of Men were counted with fewer seasons. Still, blood relations seemed like a flimsy excuse for her to come find me.

            “Sir… um… _sera_ ,” Sissel corrected herself. When she first introduced herself, she’d attempted to do so in choppy Dunmeris. Despite her tongue’s clumsiness linking the words, her skill with the sounds was a bit impressive. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late but things have been going so badly since leaving Solstheim.”

            Nodding, I ran my hand through my hair. It was far too warm for the shirt I’d hastily thrown over myself. My fingers turned over the ring hanging down from my neck. “Yes, you mentioned that. Jail.”

            She bit her lip harder, trying to hold back tears. “It was _so_ horrible and I hadn’t even done anything! Someone robbed _me_! And then they didn’t believe me until they caught the man pickpocketing someone else!”

            “You _do_ realize that even in Redoran territory Dunmer aren’t terribly fond of Men, especially Nords?”

            She nodded slowly and took a long sip of water. “The cell was dank and muddy and it smelled like…” her nose wrinkled.

            “Shit?” I offered.

            She nodded again. “And the elves in the other cells yelled at me and made fun of me and the food is _awful_ and…” Her breathing hitched and her voice got high-pitched. “And I never should have left the stupid farm and my family. It wasn’t _that_ bad.” And with _that_ she started crying again. “I should have been a better daughter. If I had been better, then Britte wouldn’t have been forced to hit me. Papa wouldn’t have drank so much—”  
            My eyes widened. Was she hearing herself talk? Her family sounded horrible but she was talking as if _she_ had been the problem. I held up my hand. “Stop.” Her head snapped up from whatever thoughts she’d been lost in. Although still softly sobbing, I had her complete attention now. Leaning over the table, I pointed firmly downward to keep her attention on my words. “Now then. Before you were in jail, you were in Solstheim?” Just saying the name made my heart beat a little faster. This poor girl needed more than one ear to help comfort her, but now wasn’t the time.

            Sniffling, Sissel pushed the cup toward me. “Can I have some more water?” I obliged her and as I poured her another cup, she continued, “Yes. I was there for a few weeks waiting for the Dunmer vessel that would travel to Blacklight. Geldis let me work at the inn and Glover told me what little he could about Rook.”

            My hands fumbled with the cup and pitcher at the unexpected mention of her name. Although the pitcher stayed steady, the cup clattered to the floor and the water stained the stone dark. I cursed and then sighed. Looking back behind me, my shoulders slumped at the realization.

            “Is _that_ what this is about? Her?”

            For the first time, Sissel’s face brightened a bit and a light smile began to spread widely. “Yes! Oh, thank Akatosh, I was worried that you were the wrong Teldryn Sero or that you’d be the _right_ one but you wouldn’t help me and that—”

            “—what?” I threw out both hands to stop her speech. “Beg pardon but help you with _what,_ exactly?”

            Her face scrunched in confusion as if I should know what she spoke of. “Geldis told me she disappeared, that she hired you for about a year but didn’t take you.”

            _Fantastic._ Simply and wondrously fantastic. As if this wound needed to be reopened and freshly ground into my face. I sneered a bit at that and outstretched my arms to motion at my empty house. “Please, _do_ remind me.”

            She jolted back a bit, startled. Tucking one side of her hair behind her ears, her eyes dropped back down to the table. “They, um, said you might react like this.” I dropped my arms and cocked my mouth to one side. Quickly, she added, “Neither of them told me anything in particular.”

            Taking in a deep breath, I closed my eyes and covered them. Ridiculous. All of those days I spent angry and bitter over how Rook had treated me. Then all of the hours I’d reconciled the time I wasted on those emotions. And after _all_ of that, part of me still cared deeply for her. I had a pretty good idea as to what Sissel wanted help with but my mouth stupidly let out, “ _No_. We parted on Solstheim. I’ve not seen her since. I’ve not heard from her since.” My eyes darted to one side, “I’ve not thought about her since.”

            But the way Sissel considered me, there was no way that she couldn’t tell one of those facts rang false. “She didn’t even tell you where she might be heading?”

            Rolling my eyes, I settled back at the table. The mess behind me could wait. “The circumstances surrounding our separation were… _complicated_. So, no, I’ve not the faintest idea as to where Rook decided to settle. Have you tried Oblivion?” I laughed joylessly.

            Sissel lightly gasped at my insult but went back to appearing despondent, gazing at her fingers wringing themselves on the table. “Oh.” It sounded less like a word and more like the last of her energy relenting to the recent events that had befallen her.

            The frustrating turn of the evening resurfaced feelings I’d desperately pushed down all year. Worse yet, today hadn’t been as kind as others. This young girl successfully ruined all of that work with the mention of a single thought aloud. _Where is Rook_?

            No. I shook my head. I refused to revisit these thoughts.

            “Now then,” I pushed back, walked over to the door, and pulled it open. “If you’d be so kind, it’s late and I have a long day tomorrow. I can point you in the direction of the nearest inn.”

            Sissel shot up. “What? But—”

            Shaking my head harder, I added, “No. I can’t help you. I _won’t_ help you.”

            She stormed over to the door and shut it. Loudly. “You don’t understand! I’ve traveled so far and have been through so much!” Then her hands found my arm, the tiny things grasping me. “Skyrim needs her,” her voice lowered. “Scores upon scores upon _scores_ of vampires are making their way from the West. It won’t be long before their brood has overwhelmed the whole of the continent!” Then her eyes glanced down before meeting my own again. “ _I_ need her.”

            Something about the way she said that word: _need_. My heart quit racing. Instead a quiet, seething anger stayed locked behind my clenched lips and gritting teeth. I might have been angry with Rook for personal reasons but I remembered what she went through, I saw and heard everything that every last person asked and demanded of her. The Skaal _needed_ her. The people of Raven Rock had _needed_ her. From what I understood, Skyrim had already _needed_ her. And she had done all of it. Killed dragons, cleansed stones, traveled to Oblivion over and over and over again. And this Nord thought that she had the right to demand _more_ of her.

            I yanked my arm from the girl. “You foolish thing. How much more are you going to ask of her? Do you have _any_ idea what she went through? How much she suffered?”

            Sissel dropped her hands lightly to her side. “I… I just thought that, that…”

            But there was nothing to say because she probably didn’t know Rook. Or rather Rook didn’t know her. Sissel knew she was the Dragonborn and wanted the Hero to take care of a vampire problem. And, quite possibly, I was angry because _I_ was being used as some sort of intermediate, as if I was a small afterthought. Solstheim had meant something more to me and I thought that it had meant something to Rook. I just wasn’t sure of it. And that uncertainty caused me the most troubling of emotions.

            My anger diminished and I placed a well-meaning hand on Sissel’s shoulder. “Look, if you need money for an inn, I can spare a coin. But I think if the Dragonborn wanted to be found, she’d make herself known. If she’s not in Skyrim, then you’re out of luck.” Her face fell. I sighed. “Don’t think that I never considered going to Windhelm to try and find her myself. But that woman had something happen to her. Surely, Geldis and Mallory relayed that to you, yes?”

            Sissel quietly nodded.

            “Then leave it be. Whole damn province of Skyrim full of Nords who beat back the Empire. Should be good enough to take care of some vampires. Count yourself lucky that getting thrown into jail for a couple of days was the worst that’s happened to you here.”

            Again, she was quiet. Dutifully, she collected her bag and her cloak. My offer of gold held no interest to her as she had been at least smart enough to keep half of her money in her knapsack while the other half had been in a pouch that had been stolen so, no thank you, she could pay her own way. Sissel apologized for interrupting my evening and thanked me for my time.

            And just as strangely as the young woman had arrived, she disappeared down the road to the nearest inn. Although I never bothered to before, my door stayed locked. Lying back in my bed, I tried to put the visit out of my mind. Sleep found me eventually.

* * *

 

            “Here!” my mother pushed more baked crab in a sweet, thick sauce onto my plate. “Now try it with this!” Before I could object, she deftly had a bottle of wine in her hands which she used to refill my goblet. “Telvon bought the most delicious wine to go with the food.” She poured herself another drink and took a large gulp.

            “Safe to assume you like it, my love,” my father rolled his eyes. “I swear, I’ve done nothing different from the last time I cooked this.”

            Taking a bite of my own meal and sipping the wine, I nodded in agreement. “Tastes like it always does. Aside from the bitter taste of regret from the price you overpaid.” A gentle prod was just what dad needed to get him grumbling again.

            “Gods damn merchant. Haven’t seen crab so expensive in all my years.” Sulking, he speared a chunk of crab and shoved it into his mouth. I stifled back laughter. My mother wasn’t quite as subtle, chortling behind a hand that served her intentions poorly. “Both of you laugh!” he pointed his fingers at both of us, face in mock anger. “But see if I cook for either of _you_ again.”

            Mom threw a piece of comberry salad at him. “Oh, like we’d be helpless.”

            I sat back and watched them have a playful go at one another, grinning. It had been a very long day. Sissel’s visit had thrown off my easy way of living and it only served to surface painful reminders of my last few weeks in Solstheim. What I could remember of it anyway. I _did_ remember the way Geldis and Glover had described Rook: pallid and weak, she had been acting strangely. What if she _wasn’t_ alright after leaving Solstheim? That thought had crossed my mind more than once before but it decided to revisit me now.

            “Teldryn, I asked what you were reading nowadays.” Both of my parents stared at me.

            “Oh,” my attention turned back to them. “Some history book about Hammerfell.”

            “Uh huh,” my father sipped thoughtfully on his wine. “And who was the young Nord woman visiting you last night?”

            I spit out the water I had been drinking. “ _What_?”

            “That’s what I said,” mom commented. “So?”

            “I suppose I should be asking you how you found out.” No reason to appear any more distressed than I had. Taking a cloth to mop up the water off the table and clean my mouth, I did my best to come across as collected.

            Dad rolled his eyes, “Well, I know it was a while ago but I _did_ come by this morning and on my way, I heard people talking. A lot of people. Nords aren’t a common sight in these parts. Especially carrying on the way she apparently was.”

            “I’m not fond of Nords but if you hurt that young lady, I _will_ find someone to free you of your testicles,” my mother gave me a stern look.

            Groaning, I rested my face in the palm of my hands. “ _No_. She was crying because she’d just gotten out of jail. For reasons that I’m still not entirely clear about.”

            Both of them eased their bodies but their faces contorted into confusion. Slowly, my father tried to understand. “A young woman from… Skyrim?” I nodded and he continued. “A young woman from Skyrim came to Blacklight in _Morrowind_ , got thrown into jail, and then came to see… you?” I nodded again. “Specifically you? She said, ‘Teldryn Sero, I’m looking for you.’?”

            “Well, not in so many words and she also tried in Dunmeris first but, yes, that is the measure of the situation.”

            My mother, frustratingly stubborn, pressed, “Yes but _why_?”

            If I told them it was just something left over from my last patron, they’d want to know who the patron was. Sissel’s appearance could be explained by something as simple as a mix-up but I hadn’t received visitors in the year I’d been here—who would confuse me with anyone else? Excuse after excuse came but nothing seemed good enough to quell their need for answers. Why not the truth then?

            “She’s searching for the Dragonborn.” I picked up my utensil and took another bite of crab. “Dinner is delicious by the way.”

            Mouths agape and eyes wide, they were rendered speechless.

            “ _Dinner_?” my mother spit out. “Surely, you aren’t telling me that the ‘wealthy patron’ you were working for in Solstheim is that crazy Nord who thinks he’s _Skyrim’s_ Nerevarine?”

            I shrugged. “Well, _she_ isn’t a Nord and she certainly never claimed to be ‘Skyrim’s Nerevarine,’ but, yes, that would be why some woman came sobbing at my doorstep late last night. Apparently Skyrim has a vampire problem now.”

            “I, well…” dad started but couldn’t quite get the words out. “Wait. Wait. _This_ is what you’ve been upset about.” The revelation that his words brought hit my mother as well but he continued. “You got involved with a _lunatic_?”

            My fingers rolled against my temples slowly, working on how to explain what happened. Rook _had_ been going slowly mad but I suspected that he referred to his disbelief in the Hero of Skyrim. “The Dragonborn isn’t some Nord running around spouting nonsense and swinging around a sword. Solstheim had dragons.” Solstheim also had a problem with a Dragonborn turned dragon priest who’d been enslaving the island’s inhabitants. But “dragon problem” would suffice.

            “ _Dragons_?” my mother gasped. “You saw dragons?”

            “Fought a few even.” I did my best to sound as if I’d been killing skeevers. “No problem though.”

            She shrieked in delight, jumped up, and embraced me. “You killed dragons! One of _my_ sons felled dragons!”

            Gasping for breath, I did my best to return her hug. “Alright, alright! But you should probably know that I did very little of the _actual_ killing. That was the Dragonborn. I helped.”

            “My son helped kill dragons!” She didn’t let me go. My father didn’t react with the same enthusiasm.

            He considered his food, resting against folded hands. His brow didn’t unfurrow. “Dearest, focus please.” Although I didn’t see it, my mother probably gave him a ferocious glare. “So, those crazy stories are real?”

            “I suspect the crazier the story the more real it is.”

            “Skyrim had been overrun with dragons? And, when you say ‘helped’ do you mean…”

            “I mean to say I probably served as more of a distraction than anything else, which reminds me,” I slid from my mother’s iron-tight grip to throw out my right leg and roll up my pant leg. “Now I can show off my most impressive scar. Dragon snapped my leg in two. The Dragonborn saved me. And the leg, obviously.”

            “ _Azura_!” dad hissed. “Gods damn it all.”     

            My mother simply dropped down to her knees and began to examine the thick, dark jagged scar that ran the midline of my shin. “Teldryn Sero,” she whispered. Then she suddenly threw herself around me. “Why didn’t you tell us sooner? We thought after Skyrim you just decided to give up on your mercenary work, that you were wasting away on that gods forsaken island.”

            This time I returned her embrace, holding her tight. “I love you two far too much to make you worry. Endryn does that job well enough for the both of us.”

            “Why doesn’t he ever write? Send a courier? Come back to damned Blacklight!” she sounded like she might start complaining about my brother again so I gently pushed her back.

            But leave it to my father to not be blinded by travels and adventures. “If a Nord is coming to you, then that means the Dragonborn isn’t in Skyrim?” he observed.

            “I suppose so.”

            “And I can only guess as to why the young lady thought _you_ might have an idea as to where she is.”

            I gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging. “What can I say, I’m weak for a woman who can break a man’s nose.”

            He groaned. “Spare the details, if it pleases you.”

            “And _I’m_ guessing the reason _we_ haven’t heard about this before isn’t because you two amicably decided to part ways,” my mom observed.

            At _that_ I had to laugh. My parents’ eyes didn’t move from me as I took a large gulp of wine. “Our separation was… difficult,” I settled on. “Suffice to say when I last saw her, we both believed she was walking off to her death. I only discovered she had lived after she was gone.”

            “Ah,” was all my mother offered.

            “Ah.” Suddenly, I had lost my appetite but a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Perhaps I should have told them earlier. They hadn’t reacted in such a way that I feared they would never allow me to move past it. My story had simply been a spectacular tale of me being hired by this era’s Hero and surviving dragons. They were impressed, perhaps a touch concerned. My relationship with Rook had elicited a begrudging look from my father. But that was it. And now, I felt better. Other than the brief annoyance of Sissel yesterday, my life could go on and no more secrets needed to be held.

            “So you must have reasons as to why you aren’t helping that young Nord find her now?” father asked.

            Well, except for that. I’d spent months wondering why Rook had decided to leave without me. Neither Geldis nor Mallory had shed much light on her sudden departure aside from some strange details that I couldn’t make sense of. Wanting to disappear with no cause made no sense but it was the only explanation I had left. And who could blame her after what happened on the island? She’d survived something we both were certain was suicide; if I were her, I’d have wanted to run away from everything as well. Although reasonable, it didn’t mean I couldn’t also be angry with her.

            So I did my best to explain. The words tried to be sufficient for the complicated reasons. “I’m not helping some woman do something that the Dragonborn probably _doesn’t_ want.”

            It was mom who smiled widely and nodded knowingly. “Oooooh. So this is _more_ than just someone you rolled around with once or twice. You’ve got it bad if you’re respecting her wishes and you parted ways badly months ago.”

            My hand ran down my face and I grinned at her. “ _Please_ , do not remind me.”

            That only goaded her into poking fun at me further, pinching my arm playfully and cooing, “Oh, this woman must have broken more than a few noses if she’s under your skin like this. What? She an Orsimer? Carry around a big axe and cut people in half?”  
            “Breton,” I mumbled. “Can’t use a sword properly to save her life but likes them. Damn good with a bow and arrow. Lots of spell casting.”

            My father snorted. “Well, is there anything she _can’t_ do?”

            “Be polite,” I cocked a smile towards him.

            “I don’t remember you _ever_ fancying anyone polite,” he pointed out.

            “Such is my curse,” I commented dryly. “Now that I’ve told you what’s been bothering me, can we move on?”

            “Did you say _Breton_?” And there it was. My mother hadn’t let that point escape her. She groaned, threw her hands up. She took a swig of wine from straight from the bottle. “What is _wrong_ with my son?” she asked her husband.  
            “At least it isn’t a Nord?” he tried helping. “Honestly, I’d be surprised if she _was_ a Dunmer.”

            “Another curse, I suppose.” I glanced over at my mother and pulled on my ears. “You should see her ears though. Not like ours but _definitely_ not a Man’s ears.”

            She raised an eyebrow in interest. “Mer father?”

            I shook my head. “Old, _old_ Breton blood would be my guess. Name sounds like something straight out of the Second Era.”

            Both of them stared at me expectantly as if I was going to continue. But I was hoping to move on from the topic for now. I’d spent more time than I wished on the issue and it hadn’t been of my choosing. Yawning, I stretched my arms over my head. “Well, then. Lovely dinner, lovely conversation topic but I’m going to be off. I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow because I _know_ you two aren’t going to let this die off any time soon.”

            “We won’t,” they promised but wished me off.

* * *

 

            I suppose it shouldn’t have greatly surprised me to see Sissel waiting outside my door, cross-legged and reading a spellbook. Great. Not only was she looking for Rook but she thought herself to be a mage also. Very cute.

            “Well, well,” I drawled. “If it isn’t the girl who made sure that not one but _two_ of my evenings have been more interesting than they have been in the past year. Truly, I’m impressed.”

            She slammed her book and scrambled to her feet. She squinted. “You lied to me.”

            I thought back to last night and went over every detail I could remember. I’d kept things from her but no blatant lies came to me. What reason would I have had to lie? There wasn’t much to _I don’t know_. Shrugging, I frowned in displeasure. “Come now. I answered your questions, didn’t immediately turn you away last night, and am _still_ being patient. Stop being difficult. I can’t help you.”

            Her hair now neatly pulled back and her face clean, Sissel seemed to have a bit more of the fight back in her. “You told me you had no idea how to find Rook but _then_ said you’d considered going to Windhelm to find her. I’ve _lived_ in Windhelm and I doubt it’s the first place you’d want to start your search for her in Skyrim.” She kept her mouth serious and her head high. “Because you’re a Dunmer.”

            “Thanks. I hadn’t noticed,” I replied flatly in response to not only her observation but also in annoyance to my slip up. Mentioning Windhelm wasn’t anything I had been conscious of. A simple mistake. Sissel didn’t let the issue drop.

            “So _why_ would you start in Windhelm?” she planted her hands on her hips.

            I crossed my arms and stared at her. Hard.

            “ _Why_?” She pressed again.

            And then I smirked at her. “Funny thing, that. You can stand there all night for all I care. Then all day and then another night and then another day. But I’ll just walk into my home and sleep soundly. You try to enter and, at best, I’ll call the Redoran guard. At worst? Well, jail is probably preferable to dealing with me.” The threat wasn’t genuine but she didn’t have to know that.

            The determination on her face dulled a bit and her hands dropped to balled fists at her side. But I could tell she was working something out. This girl was a bit inexperienced, but she was in no way stupid or simple. Her catch at something I’d missed, that I _said_ , was proof enough of that.

            “But you’re a mercenary, right?”

            I nodded slowly, my own face losing some of its confidence.

            “What if I hired you?” she blurted out.

            “Hired me?” I started laughing hard. “You were _just_ robbed and still need money to get back home and you think you have enough to _hire_ me?”

            The Nord pursed her lips and then went to work digging into her knapsack. She produced a pouch that appeared to be bulging with coins. Purposefully, Sissel grabbed my hand and placed the bag into it. It waivered a bit, the weight more than expected. I stared at her. She returned a glare. “You tell me.”

            So we went inside and I emptied the contents out. She sat patiently, drinking water I had for her in a nearby pitcher. The stacks of coins made a small wall around me as I counted them once, twice, thrice. No matter how many times I totaled the individual coins, the sum stayed the same: one thousand gold.

            I raised my brow. “Dare I ask why someone like you has this amount?”

            “I’ll tell you if you take the job. Just like you’ll tell me everything you know if you take it.”

            “I don’t need the coin.”

            “But you _do_ want to find Erith.”

            At the mention of the unfamiliar name, I became quickly confused. “Who?”

            And then Sissel’s serious demeanor faded even further. “Elisa Mallory?” But that attempt only resulted in me shaking my head. “You know, the Dragonborn? Rook?”

            I shook my head in bemused incredulity. “I should just take this job out of pity for you. Your information is woefully horrible.” But I remembered how I eventually learned Rook’s name from not her but Glover. It wasn’t hard to believe that she’d used names not entirely her own to get around. But Sissel’s assessment wasn’t far from the mark.

            There was enough gold to retain my services. I usually overcharged patrons I knew could afford it but for someone like Sissel? Five hundred as a flat rate was standard. Double that and I had something I wouldn’t usually turn down. And it wasn’t for a job I would have usually said no to either. And maybe Rook _didn’t_ want to be found.

            _But._

If someone _hired_ me then it wasn’t me going out searching for her like a lovesick fool. I was a mercenary. This was my job, my livelihood. Nothing personal about taking a job for profit.

            “Her name is Elya,” I corrected, absent-mindedly counting the gold again. “Elyrrya if your tongue feels adventurous.”

            Sissel jumped out of her seat and clapped, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ll take the job!”

            I cocked an eyebrow at her. “You are going to be the strangest patron I’ve ever agreed to work for.”

            But she didn’t seem to care about what I had said. “So why Windhelm? I was there about a month ago! I bet I know where we can start looking. I worked at the Candlehearth Hall and I heard all _sorts_ of things and I also heard gossip at the market and I was never brave enough to step into the Grey Quarter but—”

            “—great but I already know who we need to talk to.”

            “You _do_?” her eyes went wide.

            I gave her my best grin but my heart raced. I couldn’t believe I had agreed to this. I didn’t want to find Rook, did I? I’d spent the last year trying to pretend that we’d never met. So why was I agreeing to this?

            As if to answer myself, my hand traced the cord leading down to the tarnished silver ring inlaid with a chipped amethyst—it had seen far too many battles to be in good condition. I sighed, knowing _exactly_ why I was doing this.

            “Keep your dress on,” I rolled my eyes. “We aren’t leaving this moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time we saw Sissel, things were going pretty well for her: she'd pieced together that Rook had been in Solstheim, had a job, and had some people who seemed to look out for her in a strange land. Looks like her luck ran out at some point though, yeah? Wonder what the details concerning her jail time were about? Although she isn't quite as quick at piecing together how racial tensions or prejudices work. She didn't grow up around terribly open-minded people and pretty much lived in a village where there was probably one or two elves at most. 
> 
> The moment where she tells Teldryn that he's Dunmer kills me--just imaging that scene in my head is almost too much.
> 
> Speaking of culture, it's important to keep in mind that any dialogue featuring two or more Dunmer in their homeland written in "Common" isn't actually what's going on: they're speaking Dunmeris. So when the family dinner is happening, it's all in that language. So it makes more sense that Sissel has tried to pick up some Dunmeris while on Solstheim and continues to try to use it with Teldryn when she first meets him. This will come up again in the next chapter but I wanted to point it out now. 
> 
> Alas, it looks like we've picked up who we needed here and will be heading off back to Skyrim now. A shame really because I'd love to stay and write more Morrowind fic--it's really where my TES love is--but we've got a Dragonborn to find, some vampires to stop, and... maybe some other problems we don't know about. Time to leave Blacklight!
> 
> Thanks to all of you, dear readers, for being patient as I'm going through my qualifying exams this summer. They'll last until September so advanced thanks for understanding! A very special thank you to Artemis and Katherine_Alexander for leaving comments--I love hearing from all of you! Thank you to everyone who's left kudos as well. 
> 
> Next chapter? I guess we'll see how well Sissel and Teldryn get along with one another as we travel back to Windhelm. Thanks for reading! -Ash


	8. Sissel

My journey began to round itself full circle now. From Windhelm to Solstheim to Blacklight and now, bless Akatosh, back to Skyrim. With Glover and Geldis’ information, a hefty stack of East Empire Pendants that I was able to sell for a sizeable sum, and Teldryn Sero’s name, it seemed impossible that my luck would run out. That was, well, until it did. I sorely underestimated how uncomfortable and anxious standing out in a strange land would be. At least in Solstheim, some safety could be found. In Blacklight? Not with everything written in Daedric characters and not a lick of Common spoken anywhere. There also lay the small issue of me being a Nord which attracted more attention than I wanted.

But now that was all behind me and I’d survived. Feeling awfully proud of pulling through my harrowing experience, I happily bounced alongside the mercenary I’d just hired. Much taller than me, he sauntered through Blacklight as if he owned the place. The last week or so, I’d felt trapped in the congested crowds of grey-skinned Mer but today Blacklight seemed much roomier. After last night, I was concerned that maybe I’d wasted a _lot_ of gold on someone who seemed a bit soft but once Teldryn greeted me this late morning, fully armored and equipped with more than one weapon, my fears dissolved.

“What did you have to take care of this morning?” I asked innocently.

With his helm on, seeing his facial expressions were impossible but his voice was expressive enough. “Well then,” he drawled. “Not only are you persistent but you’re nosy.” I bristled a bit at that, but he chuckled low and I relaxed. “I was saying some good-byes. My suspicions tell me that I won’t be returning to Blacklight for a while.”

He seemed a bit warmer than I expected. “To who?”

Instead of answering, he glanced at me with what could only be a look of annoyance. “If I thought that important for you to know, I would have mentioned it.”

My eyes shot down to the ground. I didn’t bother speaking for a bit after that, my face hot with embarrassment. I’d spent so much time pleased with myself that I didn’t realize I still sounded like a naïve fool. Despite my silence, however, Teldryn had no problem talking. Unsurprisingly, he wanted to know about Rook.

“How do you know her?”

I explained about Rorikstead, dragons, her dealings with Jouane. “Once, she spoke to me privately and gave me this.” My hands fumbled with my knapsack, producing the hairpin.

Instead of making fun of me, he simply took it and examined it. I thought I heard him make some sort of bemused noise before returning it to me.

“And you, a young woman with absolutely _no_ experience to speak of, just decided to traipse about Tamriel and hope that you wouldn’t be killed or worse.” His voice didn’t pose a question. It was an assessment.

Fiddling with my fingers, I shrugged a bit nervously. Suddenly, Teldryn was making me feel just as anxious as the other Dunmer had. “I…um… the vampires I told you about—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, sounding a bit bored. “Your impassioned and eloquent speech from the other night. ‘Skyrim needs her, I need her.’ Explanation enough.”

We walked by a group of women with strange-looking robes and lush, dark hair pulled into intricate, high hairstyles. They quietly passed us, their faces marked with strange paint. My stomach turned and I instinctively moved a bit closer to Teldryn, bumping into him.

He laughed, breaking my fit of light fear. “Healing Mothers,” he nodded back toward the women, now behind us. “Old devouts to Almalexia who are less interested in the Tribunal than they are in being healers now. You certainly are jumpy. Dunmer aren’t _fond_ of Nords but we aren’t going to attack you.”

My nose scrunched up as I squinted hard at him. “I was _arrested_ after someone stole _my_ gold.”

Teldryn shrugged. “When I lived in Windhelm, a Nord ran me through with a sword because we were both drunk and yelling at one another.”

I stopped in my tracks but his stride remained unbroken. It took him one or two steps to realize that his words stunned me. “Oh,” was all I could think of to say. His darkly tinted goggles started back at me from over his shoulder and he sighed.

“Gods damn, you _want_ people staring at you now?” His hand came around and gently pushed me forward, his palm pressed gently against my upper back. “No, nothing unusual _at all_ about a Nord still as a statue in broad daylight.”

My feet dragged a bit but I kept up with his now rushed pace. “I’m sorry. I was complaining about something that wasn’t as bad as what happened to you. I feel bad.”

“Ha!” he shook his head in disbelief, as if the words out of my mouth were just so unbelievable they were funny. “You feeling bad doesn’t do me any good, does it? Besides, it was a long time ago.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be sympathetic,” I huffed. “I’ve only ever known one mercenary before traveling and, as he was a Nord, he didn’t have any trouble in Skyrim.”

“Mercenary, huh?”

I was happy to hear that he seemed interested in learning more. Nodding, I continued, “Yep! Erik the Slayer.” I’d always liked Erik when I was younger. Once, he yelled at my father about how he treated me and my sister. For all the good it did, Erik was always kind to me knowing what my family was like. I hadn’t thought about him in a very long time and it wasn’t until Teldryn jokingly asked me why I just didn’t hire a “nice, Rorikstead Nord” that I realized why.

“He’s dead,” I answered quietly. The noise of the city almost drowned out my words.

“Ah, yes,” the Dunmer chuckled. “Being a hired adventurer never gets old with the constant threat of death looming over you.”

Maybe it was because he had seemed so interested in Rook or maybe I had never had an opportunity to talk to someone about her aside from Jouane, but I decided to add, “He died as the Dragonborn’s mercenary.” The quiet that fell over us was unnatural, unsettling. Then it struck me: _he_ had been the Dragonborn’s mercenary as well. “Um… she did pay for his body to be returned to his father.”

Devastated, Mralki vowed never to allow Rook to step foot into the Frostfruit Inn again. She did so anyway, once telling him people died all the time.

“Get over it,” she spat at him. “I pay good coin and it doesn’t make your son any less _dead_.” Most thought Rook was being cruel, insensitive, but she had sounded sad to me.

“Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m very much alive and in one piece. If that boy is dead, it wasn’t Rook’s fault.”

I couldn’t help but stare wide at him. Was this the first time I’d heard someone _not_ blame her for what went wrong? She’d brought so much good but even Jouane wasn’t guiltless in occasionally cursing her name under his breath. A nod from me and we continued to stroll to the outside of town. Teldryn explained that the quickest way to return to Skyrim lay through the Dunmeth Pass nestled in the Velothi Mountains. I knew the range from the other side in Skyrim and often saw traders come into Candlehearth, fresh from traversing the pass. Being in Blacklight made me appreciate how worn they looked. I felt so out of place here it was as if my mind wasn’t able to relax, constantly alert.

“How long do you think it’ll take to get to Windhelm?” I tried steering the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Hmm?” his mind seemed to have been occupied with other thoughts before I’d interrupted. “It’s been a while since I’ve made the journey, but I suspect no more than three days.”

“ _Three_? It took four by ship to get to Solstheim and only one from there to get here.”

His fingers counted off the reasons. “The Argonians spared it after sacking quite a bit of our home so it remains the only means of a great deal of trading between here and Skyrim. In addition to some rough terrain, bandits are known to attack caravans.”

“Attack? Will we be in any danger?” Maybe taking the long way back on boat would have been wiser.

“Ha!” he slapped me good-naturedly on my back and I stumbled a bit, surprised by his actions. I thought all the talk of Erik and Rook had brought him down. “You’ve hired the best spellsword in Morrowind.” And then his jovial manner seemed to flatten out as if he’d been reminded of something unpleasant. “Surely, you didn’t think Rook hired me because of my good looks? Well, not upon my good looks _alone_.”

My mouth pursed toward my scrunched nose in confusion. What was I _supposed_ to say to that? I realized that after hearing Geldis and Glover talk about Teldryn’s actions after Rook had left had colored my perception of him a bit. I’d not considered that he might have been _that_ hurt over their separation as to act a bit out of sorts to forget about her. “Um, no?”

“Damn straight she didn’t,” the mercenary clapped his hands together in obvious pleasure. “So, I wouldn’t worry about anything. I’m used to my fair share of dirty work.”

“Right,” I added half-heartedly. It had occurred to me that Teldryn _might_ have to kill someone but the thought of me having to witness the act made my stomach curl. “So, after the pass, Windhelm.”

He simply nodded but then pointed ahead of us. “But not before we handle the fun task of haggling with one of these caravans to take us as passengers.”

And, yet, another expense. I’d been lucky to keep what I had. “How much does it _usually_ cost?” My mouth cocked upwards and my brow furrowed.

Striding so that there was a bit of distance between us, Teldryn glanced at me, now trailing behind. “Quite fortunately for you, I’m going to handle this.” My bright smile caused him to add, “Because you’re probably going to be shit at it.” My smile dropped suddenly.

“Hey!” my feet carried me to meet him again. “Just because I’m young and a bit inexperienced—”

“—and a Nord in Morrowind,” he pointed his finger upward to add the point.

I groaned. “Yes, alright. But it doesn’t mean you need to be so rude and crass. I’m _trying_.”

At _that_ , the Mer burst into a fit of laughter. His hand waved at me as if to signal that I’d said something so humorous, he had to shove it aside. We’d stopped a little aside from where a group of caravans and their owners were chatting with some merchants obviously from Skyrim. The mountains were still a bit a ways from us, but they rose up in the distance and loomed over Blacklight in such a way as if to threaten a grip around the city. The midday light cast a dark shadow from some of the peaks but I suspected that once it began to fully set, the sun would make sure the mountains gripped the busy area fully. I placed my hands on my hips.

“And just _what_ is so funny?”

Taking off his helm, he ran a hand through his hair. Still half-laughing he replied, “Tribunal spare me. I’m not your mercenary am I? You paid me to be your gods damned _nursemaid_.”

My blood raced and I could feel my face heating up. Teldryn’s tattooed face appeared to be like every other Dunmer’s I’d ever met—high cheekbones, high arched brows, and pointed ears. The Nords often called them cursed and dark; their faces did nothing to dispel the idea that they were unfriendly. Which is why Teldryn’s mirth and seemingly good-nature seemed out of place at first. Now it just seemed like he was mocking me. “You are _not_ my nursemaid. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand or feed me. I’ve gotten this far on my own! All the way from across Skyrim, I’ve got gold enough to pay for a mercenary to do what I can’t, don’t I?”

“You don’t _seem_ too terribly interested in taking my help.” He crossed his arms and shifted his weight,

Flustered, I responded a hair too loudly, “I can take care of _talking_ to someone to arrange transport!”

Rolling his eyes, he threw up his hands. “Fine. If it’s your desire to muck this up, be my

guest.” To add insult to injury, he motioned to the caravans. “After you then. I won’t say a damned thing.”

My nostrils flared as I stomped past him, my bag accidentally hitting his arm. I _almost_ apologized but thought better of it. His chitin-plated armor made just enough noise to let me know he followed closely behind but, true to his word, no other sound gave him away. The first Dunmer we met was a rough-looking woman who was busy leaning against her caravan, sipping occasionally from a bottle of something. Clearing my throat, I struggled to greet her in Dunmeris. She regarded me with thinly-veiled skepticism before glancing at Teldryn and saying something to him.

When he didn’t say anything after a couple of seconds had passed, I finally prompted, “Well? What did she say?”

Wide-eyed, Teldryn motioned to himself in an exaggerated manner. “Certainly, you’re not saying you need _my_ help?”

My mouth dropped into a flat line. “ _Teldryn_.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering something in Dunmeris. To me, he replied, “We speak Common, you know. Not like the Empire didn’t shove it down our throats. The _polite_ version of what she said is, ‘Unless you have business, then move on.’”

I didn’t chance a guess at what the impolite version was. But now I was confused: did that mean I should just go back to talk to her or to Teldryn so he could talk to her? I settled on addressing her in Common. “Sorry. Um, we’re looking for transport to Skyrim?”

The woman took another sip of her bottle and motioned toward the caravan. “Just you two’s going to be expensive. I’m not scheduled to haul anything for the next two days.”

“How much?”

Without missing a beat, “Three hundred.”

Suppressing the urge to balk at the suggestion, I took in a deep breath and nodded my head. “Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.” But then I quickly moved onto someone else.

In between caravans, I whispered to Teldryn. “ _Three hundred?_ I didn’t pay that much to take ship from Skyrim to Solstheim.”

He shrugged, pulled his mouth down in ambivalence. “You act as if I didn’t warn you.”

And what was I going to say to _that_? He had. So, instead of repeating the same process with the same luck, I conceded. “Okay, okay. I didn’t realize this would be so hard.”

It was almost comforting the way Teldryn widely smiled. “Glad to see you aren’t as stubborn as the woman you’re looking for. Then again, Rook is a _smidge_ more intimidating than you are.” His index finger and thumb almost came together but stopped with barely any space in between. I wasn’t going to argue that point.

“What? No comment about stubborn Nords?” I lightly jabbed him with my elbow.

He snorted. “Nords are a special kind of stubborn.”

No arguing with him there either.

We were finally able to find a man who was willing to take us immediately. Teldryn had been able to talk him down to the reasonable price of one hundred gold; however, as the mercenary was insistent upon us traveling alone rather than with other passengers, we were stuck in a wagon full of crates and bags. I did my best to settle into a comfortable position, still slightly wedged into a space between two crates with little breathing room. Teldryn was stretched outward with eyes closed, legs crossed at his ankles, and hands behind his head. Once we really started off, I was reminded that traveling was unpleasant.

Or rather my backside was.

“Ouch!” We had hit a particularly nasty bump, edging even closer to the base of the Velothi Mountain range. My hand rubbed at what would probably be a new bruise.

Yawning, Teldryn opened one eye. “And now you see why I wanted us to travel alone.”

I glared at him. “I apologize if during my eighteen seasons, I’m not exactly well-traveled.”

“Hmmph.” He closed his eyes again but smiled and continued to talk. “I made this exact same journey when I had only sixteen.”

“Sixteen?” my eyes wide and my mouth agape at disbelief, I sat forward and my hands began to wildly animate my words. “Didn’t you have any parents? Weren’t they worried? That’s so young! And they let you go to Skyrim, of all places!”

“Alright,” he waved away my concerns but I could tell he was enjoying my reaction. “No need to get _that_ excited over my life story. I’m the second Sero son; my brother has _far_ more many seasons than I do. He was born early in the Fourth Era, about one hundred fifty years ago, when things were a tad more dangerous. But he wanted to go out and make his way, have some adventures. So, my parents let him leave when he wanted which was well into after he’d passed twenty seasons.”

It always shocked me when Mer so casually talked about living for hundreds of years. “When you say he’s older…?”

“Over a hundred years,” he grinned. “But I left home far earlier than he did. While he spent his time reading books and dreaming about setting off, I just did it.”

“Wow.” I reached into my knapsack which rested in my lap to pull out an apple. “Want one?” I offered it to him.

Teldryn started chuckling to himself, leaning forward to rest his arms on his legs. I wasn’t sure what was so funny. He kept shaking his head in disbelief, only glancing up at me when his laughter subsided. “Thanks,” he reached over to grab the apple I offered and took a bite out of it, chewing slowly. After swallowing, he explained, “To say that we went through a great deal together would be understating our history greatly.”

It took me a moment to realize he was talking about Rook.

Or as he had called her: Elya.

His voice had lost every hint of pleasantness, now completely somber. There was a deep sigh before he continued. “And I’m worried about a lot of things. _Greatly_ concerned, to be quite honest.”

Since meeting him two days ago, Teldryn hadn’t voluntarily offered a great deal about the Dragonborn. It wasn’t that he was secretive. The complete opposite actually. But when it came to her, there was a guardedness about him. Something about the topic caused him to physically feel pain; his voice would hitch every now and then, his eyes grew tired-looking. Beaten. So I let him continue uninterrupted.

“I’m worried that I’ll find that she _is_ dead.” That possibility had never occurred to me. The thought must have been written on my face or he was just talking himself out of the idea himself because he quickly argued, “But I doubt that. What if the reason she vanished was because she found a way to stay alive but is still mad?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. Instead, I nodded and _hmm_ ed sympathetically. These thoughts were obviously something that he’d been plagued by since parting from Solstheim without her. And he continued on, expressing his worries. Some of them were vague enough that I could understand, but some of them were obviously topics close to whatever their relationship had been.

“But most of all, Sissel?” he began to finish. “I’m afraid that we’ll find her.”

His thought sounded incomplete. “And?”

“And what?”

“You’re afraid we’ll find her and then what?”

The sad smile he gave me broke my heart. “That’s just it.”

* * *

 

The cold wind whipped at my bare face. Perhaps I had been in _too much_ of a hurry to return to Windhelm. Over a month of living in warmer places with less wind and more sea, I’d forgotten how bitter the bite of clear air could be. Teldryn had nothing but his armor while I had a thin cloak around my shoulders. Despite the threat of bandits, our trip through Dunmeth Pass had gone smoothly. It took exactly three days, just as estimated. At night we camped by meager fires and slept in the wagon, the driver kind enough to let us use some spare bedrolls while he slept beside his horse. He and Teldryn often chatted amicably, occasionally in Dunmeris. I tried to follow and pick up a few words. Sometimes the mercenary indulged me a bit and tried to teach me a few things.

“Not bad, Outlander,” the driver commented. “You’ve got a real knack for it.”

So when Teldryn muttered under his breath, glaring at the city walls, he was kind enough to complain in Dunmeris first before I shook my head at a complete loss. He smirked at me. “Wretched place filled with bitter Dunmer.”

On the bridge to the main gates, the ice and snow cracked loudly beneath our feet, threatening and slippery. Once, my foot turned in an unexpected direction but Teldryn’s arm shot out and braced me back into balance. He was fully covered but that didn’t stop some of the Eastmarch guards from keeping an eye on him longer than necessary. Everything about the way he looked screamed Dunmer; the guards knew it, I knew it. After my experiences in Morrowind, I was acutely aware of how uncomfortable he probably felt constantly being watched for no better reason than existing in a place where others didn’t want him to breathe. My gut twisted slightly at the knowledge that I’d ignorantly agreed with Elda on multiple occasions about the Dunmer who never strayed too terribly far from the Grey Quarter. Much less the talk about the Argonians. Gods. I never realized how easy it was to slip into something so sinister.

Teldryn seemed unconcerned though, the easy saunter he usually fell into a little more confident. His arm rested against the sword that hit his leg each time he took a step. I heard him breathe in deeply. “Everything alright?” I asked, my voice slightly lowered so that only he could hear.

“Didn’t realize how much time has passed since living here.” Hs darkly tinted lenses glanced down at me and his voice sounded amused. “Look at you, having a little concern for the hired help.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

“I think most patrons would only ask how I am after I’ve taken a warhammer to the leg.”

I shuddered. “Ow.”

“’Ow’ is about the long and short of it.”

Despite their suspicions, the guards let us through into the city and sudden comfort flooded me. This place _was_ more than a little miserable but at least it was familiar. Candlehearth greeted us upon our immediate arrival through and I even saw some well-known faces who smiled and waved at me. That was, until they realized Teldryn was with me. Then their smiles dimmed a bit and the waves weren’t quite as enthusiastic.

“Ah, yes. I _did_ miss this part of living in Skyrim.” I could just imagine him rolling his eyes the way the sarcasm dripped thickly from his tongue.

Glancing down, I suddenly became very interested in my feet. I cleared my throat, “So you haven’t told me yet about who we were supposed to see about Rook.”

“Ah, yes.” His hand suddenly busied itself with digging through a large pouch. I’d asked him why he didn’t carry a larger bag but he just told me mercenary life didn’t afford itself to such luxuries. Between his fingers rested a folded piece of paper, a little yellowed and one side’s edges a bit more jagged than the others, as if someone had torn it out of a book. Then his wrist angled it to me. Cautiously my own hand reached for it. I glanced at him and he nodded at me. Slowly, I unfolded it and gave each word heavy consideration. As I stood in the cold wind, tucked away in a corner from the early evening traffic, Teldryn explained.

“I’ve had that on me for over a year and never found the courage to read it. Before she fought Miraak, I found her one morning writing this letter. After shoving this letter, a key, and some gold at me, she told me to find an Altmer named Niranye. That it was all meant for her and that she would know what to do.”

The letter was too much—my hands shook. Had I not been dealing with some shock of my own, I probably would have asked who Miraak was. Shakily I answered, “I know who Niranye is.”

And he was quick to pick up on my unease. “I’m going to wager the guess that I’m glad that I didn’t read that months ago and let its contents plague me.”

Folding it up hastily, my hands shook as I shoved it back into his hands. I didn’t want to discuss _any_ of it until I’d gotten some food in a warm place. My head swam thinking about the letter’s contents. “Don’t read it just yet. Let’s settle somewhere warmer and get something in our bellies.”

Behind his kerchief, I could see his mouth turn heavily downwards. Not only did he seem irritated that I’d handed him back the letter but he also didn’t seem content with putting off its contents for later. “Well, as much as Candlehearth holds appeal for you, I won’t be welcomed there. At most, the Cornerclub will toss you dirty glances but you’ll be with me. With any luck there will still be a familiar face or two.”

“You lived here in Windhelm that long?” I was more than happy to put the letter out of my thoughts.

And as he began to stroll through Windhelm, leading the way, I realized he was taking the routes preferred by the local Dunmer. “Only fifteen years or so but who’s counting?”

How foolish I must have sounded when I him that I knew Windhelm fairly well because I had lived here for _three months_. The miserable cold air almost became a relief against my face which was practically glowing with heat. Gods above. Akatosh, Kynareth, Mara, and the other gods all save me. My inexperience didn’t just fall under simple ignorance; so woefully inadequate, I was incapable of even evaluating it realistically. Teldryn must have been talking because I heard him ask me something.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked if you’d even stepped into the Grey Quarter.”

I shook my head.

“Ah, well, that’s to be expected I suppose. Brace yourself unless it’s gotten any better since I left.”

This was Windhelm; it was cold but that was about the worst part of it. Surely Teldryn was exaggerating but the moment we stepped into the Quarter, I knew it. My feet tripped over walkways that were in need of desperate repair. Above us hung limp, tattered banners. The faded daedric script clustered in tight groups on them signaled that they hailed from Morrowind. All of signs bore the same writing, not a lick of Common to be found. Without Teldryn, I would be lost within a very small section of Windhelm. Even the buildings were in the sorry state, foundation stones chipped and cracked. Every entryway held doors made of faded, molded wood. What little varnish remained did little to add to the appearance.

“I… I had no idea it was like this here,” I whispered.

A joyless laugh escaped him. “Vvardenfell is in better shape.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, pointing at a building close to us. “Here’s my suggestion—although I know how _fond_ you are of taking my word over your own experience—stick close by and don’t speak to anyone but me. Or at least until someone addresses you directly. Not every Dunmer is a thief or a reprobate but I can guarantee you’ll find _at least_ one drowning in alcohol here. If the same owner’s here, which he should be, then we’ll be fine. We were old friends.”

“I’m inclined to take your lead here.” After everything that had happened, it was probably best to listen to the Dark Elf.

He grabbed my shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze, chuckling. “Ah, Sissel. It’s so _nice_ to work for someone who thinks I know what’s best without a fight.”

I couldn’t help but give him an uncertain grin. “You work for a lot of patrons who just ignore everything you say?”

“I’m beginning to doubt your claim that you know the Dragonborn as well as you say,” Teldryn joked good-naturedly.

Despite its dilapidated state, the warmth of the empty inn hit me upon walking through the door. It seemed as if I wouldn’t have to worry about anyone trying to cause trouble for me. The innkeeper began to sneer the moment his eyes met mine but suddenly softened upon glancing at Teldryn taking off his helm. He exclaimed something and ran around the counter, the two men embracing each other and rapidly, happily exchanging greetings. At most I caught snippets of _how are you_ and _home_ and _you bastard_ and Teldryn’s name. Then the Mer pointed at me and his tone switched from pleasant to confused and a bit frustrated.

Blessedly, Teldryn took pity on me and replied in Common, “My patron.”

The innkeeper’s face contorted into a look of confusion, the likes of which Nirn had probably never seen. “ _What_?” he spit out.

“It is a _very_ long story,” Teldryn drawled. “But some food and drink first.”

We were welcome to take any table we wanted but Teldryn took one furthest away from the bar—a bit chillier than I wanted to be. But he wanted to talk.

“That letter then,” he produced it and opened it himself. “Better I just see it for myself then.”

I bit my lip as he slowly read Rook’s letter. Once or twice he sighed but he didn’t seem distressed. The barkeep served us hot mulled wine, bread, and cheese but didn’t bother Teldryn as he re-read the letter. But when he put it down, I was shocked that he only seemed mildly displeased.

“Who’s Aventus?” Teldryn asked. “She says, ‘Tell Aventus that I love him dearly and that I never meant to make the mistakes I did,’ in this letter.”

I nearly shot out of my seat and screamed but instead I leaned down close to him and hissed, “ _That’s_ the part you’re concerned with? Not that she’s part of the Dark Brotherhood or the Thieves Guild? I just thought she worked _with_ them. I didn’t realize she was criminal. _Or a murderer_.”

Teldryn seemed a bit confused before laughing loudly. “Oh, I already knew all _that_. Besides, you seemed to be alright with having her kill vampires.”

“Vampires are _monsters_.”

“Vampires are people afflicted with a disease.”

I wanted to argue, I really did. But I couldn’t. I held my head in my hands. Tears pooled in my eyes, threatening to spill out. “I thought she was a _Hero,_ not some lowlife,” my voice trembled. “I’ve wasted all my time trying to find the leader of the assassins and the thieves and now I’m stuck here and what—”

Teldryn interrupted me in Dunmeris, thick and low. I thought I heard the word _swit_. And then he explained in Common with his face deadly serious. “How selfish _are_ you?”

I sniffed. “What?”

“You barely have eighteen seasons and you somehow think it’s your gods given right to judge someone who has saved your and _all of Tamriel’s_ sorry arses over and over again.” He rolled his eyes and threw his hands up. “But I’m _sure_ you know _everything_. So now you don’t _need_ her, right?”

My heart raced. Something was caught in my throat. “That’s not what I—”

“Meant?” he threw back his bottle of mulled wine, taking a large sip. “Funny thing that, the only way I can tell what you _mean_ is what you say. I’m not a diviner. If you say Rook’s a lowlife than I’ll return your money to you and go back home because I’m sure you don’t want to be working with someone who _kills for money_.” Teldryn scowled at me and I nearly yelped. “I may not be an assassin but what _do_ you think a mercenary does? Hmm?”

I kept my head down, completely focused on my fingers nervously playing with themselves.

The Dark Elf nodded at me. “That’s what I thought.” He scoffed. “Just like a Nord to sit there and judge, not actually _do_ anything but expect others to live up to their standards.”

My eyes went wide. “I’m not _like that_!”

“Then what _are_ you like? Because you thought finding Rook was a good idea until you learned that maybe she’s made mistakes, that she’s had to make hard decisions. Now you’re ready to say Oblivion with her.”

I picked at my cheese and bread. Quiet. Embarrassed. Frustrated. My words wouldn’t come out right and I felt like such an idiot. “I… I just had no idea she did those things.” I took a small sip of my own wine, my hands a little unsteady. “I just thought that Heroes were…” I cautiously glanced up at him. “…better.” I practically whispered the word.

Teldryn just sighed. “We’re both tired. Let’s get rooms and talk about this again tomorrow.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geesh, Teldryn. Sissel is only 18 years old, scared, traveling alone in a dangerous land, and comes from an abusive family. Maybe don't yell at her just because she's saying things you don't like about the lady you love. (Yikes. I wrote the L-word). So, thanks so much for being patient! This chapter wouldn't have been possible if it weren't for my wonderful beta, praeeunt. Seriously, this lady is amazing--especially considering all the missed commas in the draft because I'm writing while I'm half-asleep. Just to give you guys an idea about where we're at in LtB, Teldryn and Sissel will meet with Niranye and Aventus but then they'll be off to where Niranye directs them (hint: nowhere in Skyrim). I'm not terribly interested in following them the entire way (and neither would you guys, because, let's be honest, it's going to be this chapter all over again and again) so we'll switch perspectives to an entirely new character: Teldryn's brother, Endryn! I've been pretty nervous about introducing him.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who've left kudos or comments on this story or any of my others. I've been so, so stressed that I'm not sleeping well so please, please forgive me if I'm not as coherent as I hope to be. I really appreciate all the help and support you guys are so kind to offer me--it means a lot to me!
> 
> I know my updates have been a bit wonky so it might be that Leading the Blind might be a minute before updating again. I have no idea when because I've got so much academic writing to do :') BUT I do know the next thing to update will be another chapter of Relentless. If you guys are itching for another good fic to read, might I suggest reading Kira_Evangeline's The Last Snow Elf? I'm a bit biased because the author's a friend of mine and I beta the work, but I think it's fantastic for a Snow Elf lore story. I've read so many that don't dig too heavily in making a richer history for them and, obviously, I'm a sucker for heavy lore-based stories.
> 
> Okay, until next time, thanks for reading! -Ash


	9. Sissel

I curled the blankets tighter around me, tucking my feet close to my legs. _Windhelm_ . I'd forgotten about the cold, unforgiving mornings—the kind that made me long for home or even, to my surprise, Morrowind. The irony: a Nord longing for _that_ territory. I sniffled. The well-worn quilts accomplished little in the way of actual warmth so I tossed them off of me and threw my legs over the bed.

“Blessed Nines,” I mumbled and rubbed my hands vigorously against my arms. “It was never this cold in Candlehearth.”

But of course it wasn’t. Candlehearth Hall was meticulously cared for because it had the business to put gold back into the inn. The Cornerclub had no such luck. In one of the poorest parts of the city, its patrons never stayed longer than it took to finish a round of drinks. Poor patrons in a poor place meant that this room had probably never seen good days. All the rooms were upstairs but that did little for the heat rising from the hearth on the first floor.

But there was no time to complain. It had taken me months and I’d _finally_ gotten a whiff of something that felt like progress. This was no time to be dragging my feet because I was a little cold. I quickly dressed and packed what belongings I had. Before I put the strange mask away, I studied it. When I’d first showed it to Teldryn, he seemed a bit spooked. He confirmed that he’d seen it before but that he wanted to wait to talk about it.

He said that about a lot of things when it came to Rook’s time on Solstheim.

The only things I ever heard about her time there ended up being small bits of whispered gossip from whoever I _could_ get to speak of it. She arrived on the _Northern Maiden._ She’d hired a mercenary—Teldryn Sero. Something happened. When she left, something was wrong. She seemed mad and looked like death. That was it. I wasn’t going to waste this opportunity to learn more.

But as soon as I reached the first floor, I remembered what happened last night. Teldryn was sitting at the bar with his helm in the seat beside him. He and the Mer behind the counter had been chatting amicably when my presence caused them to stop. I’d forgotten about our argument last night. I felt my face grow hot in embarrassment.

“Sissel,” Teldryn waved and moved his helm. He said something in Dunmeris that was either _good morning_ or a general greeting.

The man behind the counter simply nodded at me as I sat down. “What’ll you have?”

Before I could answer, Teldryn leaned over and whispered too loudly to be a secret, “I’ve already asked Ambarys to be nice, so no need to be shy.”

Ambarys rolled his eyes and then muttered something. “Just so you know, Sero, I like your brother more.”

Teldryn laughed. “You _always_ say that.”

“Because it’s _always_ true.” He turned to me, sighing in defeat. “So, what’ll it be, _Nord_?”

I flinched a bit at the direct address. “Uh, I’ll…um, have some bread.” My hands kneaded one another against my lap.

“Bread coming up.” While Ambarys busied himself cutting a slice off a loaf, Teldryn took the opportunity to speak with me.

“Well, _patron_ , your feelings remain unchanged since last night?” His tone was a bit teasing but I had the impression that it was a serious question.

A small plate with bread slid in front of me. I said thanks as I paid. “I’ve not given it much thought,” I quietly admitted. Instead of eating the bread, I picked at the crust. “I knew that she wasn’t the _best_ but, that letter… it…” I rolled a piece of bread between my fingertips, a neat little ball smoothing out. I met his eyes, not realizing how serious he looked. I’d forgotten along our travels together that he _was_ Dunmer; it shocked me to feel a bit frightened at his appearance.

“It _what_?” he sighed, sounding a bit annoyed. He took another swig of whatever was in his flask.

My hands finally stopped playing with my food. My voice lowered to a whisper, “I just didn’t know about _all_ of it.”

        He rubbed the back of his neck and stared into his flask as if searching for a response to give me. “I apologize for how I treated you last night—it was harsh. You’re young and I should have known better than to lay all of my anger on you. But you’ve got some decisions to make. _If_ we find Rook, you _will not_ find the person that you’ve made her out to be.” His face softened as he reached out and gently tapped my forehead. “And you might have it all worked out up there, but I promise that whatever you hope to ask her about saving Skyrim from the vampires, it _will not_ go well.”

        I swallowed and nodded slowly. I’d wrestled with these thoughts since Teldryn first brought them up in Blacklight. “I know.” My voice felt weak. “But…”

        Oh, what _was_ there to say? Teldryn Sero’s gaze didn’t tear from mine, awaiting the decision he had put forth. Nothing had to be said aloud. I knew what he was asking: keep searching for Rook or end our journey here?

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My conviction found words. “I need to find her. You said it yourself that something might be wrong with her. And she means _a lot_ to me. Rook has saved this land from dragons and, well, I’m sure more, but she deserves at least _one person_ who cares enough to check on her.”

Pain flashed across his face for an instant. I couldn’t tell which part of my words had hurt him. Try as I might to figure out what it was, his face gave nothing away. But the moment had passed. Instead he nodded and finished off the last of whatever he’d been drinking.

“Well, then. Now that you’ve decided, might I suggest a course of action, dearest patron?”

And just like that, the old Teldryn was back. I couldn’t help but grin at the light jab. “I know Rook told you to deliver this to Niranye but she makes me nervous, like she’s always watching me. I’ve met Aventus and he’s the one you were asking about last night, about how she loves him?”

“So, you’d prefer to see him before Niranye? What for?” The way he asked it made me think he wasn’t excited by the prospect.

For once, I felt in control of the situation. Giving him a weak smile, I explained, “I think he might be able to tell us more about her.” It made sense now, how Aventus was rude and how he spoke of a difficult woman who cared for him. It was Rook. “She visited him before she left.”

Teldryn’s brows furrowed. “And how do you know that?”

My smile became stronger. “He told me.”

* * *

 

        Aventus’s unsure gaze went from me to Teldryn and then back to me. “Welcome back, Sissel. All of Candlehearth gossiped for a good month about you leaving for Morrowind all of a sudden.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head a bit, studying the mercenary again. “And, uh, brought back… a friend?”

        The circumstances were, admittedly, a bit confusing. We’d discussed it beforehand and Teldryn agreed that I could probably do all of the talking without mucking things up too badly. Besides, he was Dunmer and I had no idea how Aventus felt about Mer. Luckily, the shop was empty save for him.

        I swallowed and stepped forward. “Not quite.” My hands fumbled with unfolding Rook’s note and read it aloud. “‘Tell Aventus that I love him dearly and that I never meant to make the mistakes I did.’ That’s what Rook wrote here.”

        His face and arms dropped. “ _What_?” he whispered, his voice cracking. His light eyes glistened slightly. My heart ached at the wound I’d obviously just reopened.

        My own voice wavered. “R-rook, right? I don’t know what name you know her by but she’s the woman you spoke of when we first met.”

        Aventus’s face lost all color as he rushed around the counter. As he ran past us, I jumped out of the way. Everything happened in a blur. Aventus reached for the door but Teldryn’s reflexes were faster. By the time it was all over, the Imperial was struggling to rip himself from the Dunmer’s grip against the collar of his robe.

        “Let _go_ of me, you idiot!” Aventus growled, swiping behind him and striking Teldryn’s arm. “I’m locking the _gods damned door_!”

        Teldryn abruptly released him and threw his hands up. He cursed. “Damn _me_.” He ripped off his helm and ran his fingers through his hair. I stared at him, wondering what on Nirn had shocked _him_.

        Aventus yanked the key out of a pouch on his belt and locked the door. Then he brushed himself off and scowled at two of us. “Damn _you_ is right. The two of you should be on your _knees_ thanking me for not calling the guards! What is the meaning of all of this, _Sissel_?”

        I froze, my heart beating in my throat. The _guards_? Oh, no no no. “I’m so, _so_ sorry, Aventus.” I ribbed Teldryn hard. “ _We’re_ sorry, aren’t we?”

        Teldryn shook his head. “Like Oblivion, I am,” he muttered. Then he addressed Aventus directly. “You know Rook.”

        “No business of yours, mercenary,” Aventus scoffed. “Sissel.” I flinched at the direct address. “ _What_ is going on?”

        That’s what _I_ wanted to know. I bit my bottom lip and wrung my hands together. My eyes darted back and forth between Teldryn—who still seemed to be processing something—and Aventus. Instead I simply took the mercenary’s lead. “You know Rook then?” I asked quietly.

        He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t a conversation I can have without a drink.” He walked past us and looked over his shoulder. “Well, you two’ve made this big of a scene. Come along upstairs. I’m the only one working today so no interruptions.”

        I followed Aventus and Teldryn followed me. The second floor of the shop was a quaint living quarters. Aventus explained that his master, Quintus, used the space whenever he came back to Windhelm. Usually, the Imperial served as the resident alchemist and used the space to sleep in if he spent late nights working in the dead of winter.

        “My home is above the Grey Quarter,” he explained. “Not far but far enough.”

        He asked us to take a seat at a meager wooden table as he opened a cabinet, rummaging around.

        I leaned over and, behind my mouth, whispered to Teldryn, “Would you _please_ tell me what happened down there?”

        He frowned. “It was like listening to _her_. He doesn’t just know about her. He—”

        “ _He_ what?” Aventus glared at Teldryn, giving us each a tin cup and holding up an uncorked bottle of wine. “Is offering a mercenary who attacked him hospitality?”

        Teldryn groaned. “I grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, boy.”

        “You’re a _paid thug_ who _happens_ to be a Dunmer in Windhelm. I’m not an idiot,” he threatened while pouring the wine. “I don’t care who _you_ think you are but I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t appreciate a stranger thinking he can touch me in _my_ place of work.”

        Before Teldryn could reach across the table, I threw out my hand and placed it against his shoulder to push him back against his chair. It became clear to me that if I didn’t step in, we’d end up being thrown out onto the street. I felt my hand shake. “Teldryn, Aventus. _Please._ ”

        Both of the men turned their attention to me.

        I cleared my throat and wrapped both hands around my cup. “Aventus,” I stared down into the dark wine and tried to explain, “I’m looking for Rook, that’s why I came to Windhelm in the first place.”

        He sat down and listened intently, nodding. “Alright.” He took a sip and then asked, “ _Why_?”

        I blinked, confused. Didn’t he know who she was? “Why am I looking for her?”

        Aventus tapped the table, every now and then glancing at Teldryn. “Yes. Why are _you_ looking for her? I’m usually harassed by Ulfric or one of his men. And you’ve got…” He gestured to the mercenary.

        Teldryn rolled his eyes.

        “I hired a mercenary,” I agreed. “But not just _any_ mercenary. Teldryn was Rook’s last hire.”

        The Imperial man seemed a bit surprised at the news. “Oh.”

        “Oh?” Teldryn asked.

        Suddenly, Aventus’s face became soft. “She just never talked about her work with me, that’s all.” His mouth quirked upward in something that seemed like a smile. “I mean, the kind of work that required her to hire mercenaries.”

        Was he referring to her being a thief? An assassin? The Dragonborn? None of this was making any sense to me so before Teldryn could respond, I jumped in, “Wait. Why wouldn’t she share her work with you?”

        He threw back the cup to take a large swig before slamming the cup down. I jumped at the sound. “Sorry, sorry.” Aventus buried his face in both of his hands. “She… uh, do either of you know her by any other names?”

        Teldryn counted them off before I could. “Elya, Erith, Elisa—”

        “Ah.” Aventus gave us a wide smile, relaxing a bit. “She trusts you that much then? Elya.”

        I raised a brow. “Is that important?”

        His voice lowered to a whisper although we were the only ones in earshot. “Everyone in Windhelm widely knows her as Erith Varine but, um, I know her name is Elya.”

        “Ashwing?” Teldryn asked.

        Aventus shook his head. “That I don’t know.” He poured more wine for himself. His pursed lips turned downward as he sighed, obviously torn with indecision. “How do I explain this?”

        “ _Blessed_ Tribunal,” Teldryn groaned. “I’ve not the time for this. We _know_ about her time with the thieves and the assassins. Is that what you’re worried about?”

        Relief washed over the alchemist’s face and he began to laugh. “Oh, thank the Night Mother!”

        My eyes went wide, my mouth agape.

        Teldryn simply laughed along with him. “I’m guessing that _was_ what you were worried about.”

        The Imperial wiped tears from his eyes. “Yes, well, you can imagine that I can’t _exactly_ voice my support for the Dark Brotherhood in this place.”

        I threw up my hands. “You _too_?”

        “ _Me_ too?” Aventus asked, sounding a bit bemused. “Don’t tell me _you_ were adopted by Elya after praying to the Night Mother.”

        Teldryn choked on his wine, nearly spitting it out. “ _Adopted_? She’s your mother?” His face twisted in confusion. “You’re her _son_?”

        There was some considerable silence after his outburst. I sipped on my wine, one hand in my lap. Aventus arched a brow and cocked one side of his mouth upwards. Although a bit of a strange discovery, nothing seemed so unusual to warrant the mercenary’s reaction. He seemed a bit embarrassed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he cleared his throat. I knew he and Rook had left something between them but to be worried about children? It seemed like a complete overreaction.

        “…yes?” the Imperial answered slowly. “I’m not certain as to _why_ that’s important.”

        “It’s not,” Teldryn quickly countered. He tilted back his head and covered his eyes with his hand. “Perhaps… perhaps you could start from the very beginning?”

        I frowned. “The very beginning of _what_? We just need to know what they talked about before she disappeared.”

        Aventus didn’t interrupt us but quietly watched as we argued.

        “That was before I— _we_ knew that he is her _son_ ,” Teldryn motioned to the other man. “He might know something important.”

        My mouth fell open and I shook my head, confused as to what was happening. “We need to know where she’s at. I hardly think that requires asking about the _Brotherhood_!” I hissed.

        Both of us jumped at the sound of a cup slamming against the table. We turned our attention to Aventus who looked positively _incensed_.

        “ _Both_ of you are _mad_!” he yelled. I bit my bottom lip and sank into my chair as he continued. “So _what_ if I’m her son? She adopted me when I was _twelve_ and practically left me to raise myself. Is _that_ what you wanted to know, _elf_?”

        Teldryn paled.

        The man relaxed back in his chair and rolled his eyes as his hands gestured to nothing in the air. “You want to know what happened the last time I saw _my mother_? I was at home and she just appeared at the door. No warning. I hadn’t seen her in about a year. Every time Elya disappears and I don’t hear from her, I don’t know if she’s left for a day, left Skyrim for good, or _dead_. She didn’t tell me where she’d been. All she said was, ‘I love you _so_ much, my boy, but I can’t stay here.’ I asked what was going on, where she’d been. But she was gone before I could keep her.”

        My hands shook as I took a small sip of wine. Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. I never knew my own mother. Aventus had somehow lost his and Rook picked up the role the best she could. “I’m _so_ sorry,” I blurted out. “I—I didn’t know and I just want to find her but, I promise, I wouldn’t have come to you if—”

        “If you’d known, Sissel?” Aventus gave me the saddest of smiles. “Since she came into my life, everyone who comes looking for her doesn’t care about me. I’m a means to an end: her. I’m not an idiot. I know who she is—the Dragonborn. We don’t talk about it. We never talk about _anything_ except for what she thinks I should do because gods _forbid_ I live my own life without her hovering over me at each step. There’s nothing _to_ know.”

        Swallowing my tears back, I quietly asked, “Does that mean Rook didn’t tell you where she went?”

        Instead of answering me, the alchemist addressed the mercenary. “The very beginning, Teldryn? None of your gods damned business.” And then back to me, “No, Sissel. She never does.”

        It went quiet. I felt ashamed, barging in and making some dramatic entrance. The gods only knew what had gotten into Teldryn but he had stopped talking. Instead it was his turn to pay too much attention to his drink. Aventus’s hooded gaze bore a hole into me. They looked nothing alike but now I couldn’t unsee Rook in him. He frightened me with that stare. But just as soon as the look had come, it went.

        His face went soft and he leaned forward. “Don’t misunderstand. I believe she loves me. Probably too much. Elya would have never told me because she wants to protect me—no matter how misguided her actions. That letter you have? I have no doubt that she loves me. I love her. _So_ much.”

        Aventus sounded so sad. I reached across the small table to grasp his hand for a moment and squeeze it in comfort. I wasn’t sure what to say. Rook was a powerful woman with connections and abilities I could never imagine. But then I’d met Teldryn, someone she’d left angry and heartbroken. And now here was Aventus, someone she’d left alone and worried.

        “I want _to find_ her, Aventus.” My own voice shocked me. “If you care about her, _help_ me.”

        Without much urging, Aventus agreed. “There _is_ one person who’d know more than me.”

        “Niranye.” Teldryn finally spoke up.

        The Imperial nodded, smiling a bit. “Not as stupid as you look, mercenary.” Teldryn looked ready to reach across and wring his neck. “Yes, Niranye. She’s usually out in the market but I _do not_ recommend approaching her there. In fact, it’s best that you probably don’t speak to her on this matter in public. Elya allows her to live in Hjerim as a steward.”

        “One of her houses?” Teldryn guessed.

        “Yes,” Aventus shrugged. “I know she owns many but I’ve never visited any except that one. A former house of murder and torture.”

        I shivered.

        “Elya trusts Niranye with more than me when it comes to her whereabouts. I’d start there.”

        When we left, Aventus opened the shop back up. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d made a mistake visiting him first. How much pain had I caused, asking him to go through everything he’d just described? And all for what? Practically nothing.

        Teldryn fell into step beside me as I wandered around town, heading towards the docks. I tugged my cloak around me tighter as the wind howled. He didn’t say anything and it was hard to guess what he was thinking since he’d put his helm back on. When we finally made it to the docks, I sat down on the cold stone and stared out into the water. Teldryn sat beside me, looking out as well. He removed his helm and placed it beside him.

        “This was a mistake,” he admitted, his breath coming out in small clouds with his words. “Sissel, _we’ve_ made a mistake.”

        My face fell. “What?”

        “You don’t see it at all, do you?”

        I shook my head and the wind blew my hair into my face. My hands smoothed out the stubborn strands as best as I could. “See what, Teldryn? Maybe the visit with Aventus didn’t go well—although I still don’t know why you were so concerned with him being her son—but we now know a bit more for when we visit Niranye this evening.”

        “That’s my _point_. We are trying to find a woman neither of us know anything about. And for what purpose?” I opened my mouth but he held up a finger to silence me. “This has _very little_ to do with the vampires. You want to find her for yourself. Damn me, _I_ want to find her for myself.”

        “I _hired_ you,” I argued.

        “Oh, come off of it,” he chuckled, slapping me on the back. I fell forward and my arms flailed, trying to regain balance. He grabbed my arm and held me steady. “Easy there. Don’t want to fall into these icy waters.”

        I grinned. “Well, it would’ve been _your_ fault.”

        He patted my shoulder, a bit more gently this time. “Don’t worry.  I can swim even with all this armor on. Tiny thing like you would be nothing to pull out.”

        “Ha.” I swung my legs back and forth. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

        “Respect your elders, young lady,” he smiled. “You paid for the best.”

        I looked up at him and frowned. “And the best didn’t allow himself to be hired because I paid top coin, did he?”

        Teldryn Sero shook his head. “Only if a young Nord decided to venture out into the world for the sole sake of stopping a vampire problem. Then yes, he did.”

        My fingers picked at the wool of my cloak. Try as I might, my gaze now refused to leave the cloth I wore. “You were really upset in there.”

        “Was it _that_ obvious?” he joked.

        The words lodged themselves in my throat. The air in my lungs tried to force them out but it took more than one attempt to ask, my voice low, “You don’t have a child with her, do you?”

        Teldryn cleared his throat. “To be completely honest, the thought crossed my mind. I wasn’t… uh…” He stared up into the sky, his face stretched into an odd mix of shame and confusion.

        I blinked and tilted my head. “You weren’t _what_?”

        Now _he_ seemed to have trouble getting the words out. “Well, you, uh… you’re a young lady so you know about certain… uh, _things_.”

        “…things.” I squinted at him.

        His hands clapped together in obvious frustration. “Yes. _Things_ about being a woman.”

        Oh, for the sake of the _gods_. I sometimes felt that not wanting to lie with men made me an oddity but at times like this I felt blessed by Mara to want women. “You mean monthly blood. You could have just _said_ that, nothing hard about it.”

        He glared at me. “ _Fine_. Yes. In the whole year we spent together, I didn’t really pay attention to her and after, we, uh…”

        My mouth went flat, annoyed. “You can’t have me believe that you’re embarrassed telling me this.”

        “Pardon _me_ if I don’t feel like talking about all the men and women I’ve bedded to a young girl.”

        My face went hot, hearing the fact so bluntly. “Fair point.”

        “Damn right it is,” Teldryn grumbled.

        I decided to spare him. “You two didn’t discuss anything after bedding one another.”

        “Aside from how great it was?” he winked at me and I groaned. “Alright, alright. I’ll start being serious. No. I assumed if she wanted to talk about it, she would have. Considering the situation we were in, I seriously doubted she _wasn’t_ taking care of things.”

        I buried my face in my hands. “ _Of course_ you did.” I waved it away. “No matter now. You can ask her _all_ about her monthly blood and after-bedding alchemy when we find her.”

        He sneered a bit at that. “You’re a bit cocky for someone who thinks Rook’s some hero in brilliant armor, coming to rescue you from whatever problems _you_ have.”

        “Hey!” I shrieked. “That’s not fair! Skyrim needs—”

        “—her. Yeah. You’ve mentioned that. And how _you_ need her also.” Teldryn shrugged. “I can at least be honest and say that I care about her. Alright, so I came along with you to have some thinly-veiled excuse to drag myself out Blacklight. What of it? We went through a great deal together and I’m worried about her, miss her. What’s _your_ excuse?”

        My face grew hot. How _dare_ he sit there and act as if I was just as shallow as he was. I traveled practically the entire land of Skyrim and then some to find Rook, all of it in the hope to find her and bring her back to save people from dying. I was _doing a good thing_! A noble thing! This was the sort of thing bards wrote songs about! Teldryn Sero just came along because he was _in love_ with her and he couldn’t even admit it to himself.

        I shot up, almost losing my balance again. He grabbed my hand to steady me but I went ahead and yelled at him anyway. “I know you’ve been moping in Morrowind, but the vampires are a _serious_ problem here! People are dying, no one feels safe! I’m the only one on _Nirn_ who felt compelled to find the _one_ person who can save us!” I carefully stepped off the edge to pace back and forth along the snow-covered stone, my boots carving a path. “Rook is powerful!” I proclaimed excitedly, my arms spread out wide. Teldryn watched me with wide eyes. “She’s the most amazing person in the world and, alright maybe some of the other things about her aren’t _so_ great but she’s kind and wonderful. When I was younger she was so _nice_ to me and anytime she came into town, I was always so excited to see her. Rook would just stroll in and everyone _knew_ she had so much _power_.” I took a deep breath before continuing. “And the way she killed the _dragons_! Have you ever seen her take on one of those beasts because—”

        He interrupted me with a stream of Dunmeris, sliding off the ledge and holding his face in his hands.

        “What?” I stopped and stood in front of him, my hands on my hips.

        “I get it now.” He threw his hands up. “You’re her biggest _fan_.”

        My mouth dropped. “Didn’t you hear me? I left because of the _vampires_.”

        “Yeah, sure. And what about _before_ that? Hmm?” Teldryn crossed his arms and cocked a hip. “You’re expecting me to believe that you didn’t think of her _once_ before those creatures decided to run rampant across the land?”

        “She’s the _Dragonborn_!” I pointed to myself. “I watched her save my village. _Of course_ I think about her all the time!”

        “And _I_ think about her because she owes me money!”

        At that moment, an Argonian dockworker came through and yelled at us in Jel. Then in Common, “ _Kaoc_ , get out of the way, you fools!” He shoved between us with a large crate in his hands. “Our jobs are hard enough without two _masu_ idiots standing around yelling.”

        I jumped out of the way and apologized. “I am _so_ sorry.”

        Teldryn frowned.

        When the Argonian left, he and I stood there in the cold watching one another, completely ashamed of ourselves.

        I rubbed my upper arm and stared at my feet. Teldryn was right. I _did_ think about her all the time. I thought about the time we sat together at the shrine and how being so close to her shocked me because she seemed so mortal. When I thought back to why I pressed Jouane to teach me magic, I had to admit that being like her crossed my mind more than once. And when my family became too unbearable? How often did I fantasize about being like her or by her side, running free and powerful?

        “Maybe, um…” I whispered. “Maybe both of us are a little bit right.”

        He smirked but it seemed a bit sad. “Maybe.”

        I furrowed my brow. “But… we should still find Rook, right?”

        “I think it would be irresponsible of us to end the journey here without seeing how she’s doing,” he agreed.

        “A lot of bad things must have happened to her for her to just run off.”

        “Yeah,” Teldryn wrapped an arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze. “You’re alright, Sissel. You know that?”

        I smiled. “Thanks.” He let me go and we began to walk back into the city proper. “So… you’re still my mercenary?”

        He hummed in thought for a moment before answering. “Partners.”

        “Partners?” My eyes widened. “You mean, like a _real_ partnership?”

        It was his turn to gently rib me. “Yes, yes. Me working with a Nord purposefully,” he drawled jokingly. “The way I see this, we sort of need one another. I wasn’t _exactly_ the most professional mercenary back there at the alchemy shop and—just maybe—treating every stop on our journey as a way to learn her life’s history without her consent is _probably_ a bit…” he floundered at the admission.

        “Odd?” I offered.

        He nodded approvingly. “Diplomatic word choice. Yes. _Odd_. We should focus all of our efforts on finding her right now. You need someone with a bit of muscle, skill, and magic.”

        I shrugged. “I’m not exactly intimidating.”

        Teldryn arched a brow at me. “No kidding,” he laughed. “I know you’re proud of your magic, but I think I can get us through some rough spots while you’re becoming an expert.”

        We stood in front of the giant doors that led back into the walls of the city.

        I looked up at him and then held out my hand. “Alright then. Partners?”

        He grasped it hard. “Partners.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness... it's an UPDATE! Thanks so much for being patient while I've been getting life stuff settled. Well, I've got a LOT to say about this chapter but instead of cluttering up this space I'll be making a long-winded post on the blog because this chapter surprised me. Since being on a hiatus, I've started writing an AU for Teldrook called "Thistle Do Nicely" and while it started as a one-off but I've got a plot now (what is WRONG with me?) and it's going to be a relationship drama. It's not on the regular update rotation so it won't affect the current update schedule. 
> 
> I'll be updating Relentless next and then, when we return to Leading the Bling, it's a Rook chapter.
> 
> Let me know what you think about this new chapter and thanks for reading!


	10. Endryn

       Rotted, wet, and in desperate need of repair, Bravil would probably linger near death for another era, two at most, before its impoverished despair swallowed it whole. The Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion were so embroiled in whatever their latest argument was that a city like this was allowed to waste away. I was glad I’d spent the last fifteen years traveling between Valenwood and Elsweyr. The White-Gold Concordat did little to improve relations with anyone anywhere. Which made my decision to join the Companions in Skyrim even more foolish but, at my age, I wanted to be part of the best collection of mercenaries in Tamriel. No place or group rivaled it.

But for the evening, I was stuck in Bravil gambling in order to afford the long trip north across Cyrodiil—working odd jobs would take longer than I had patience for. The basement of the large establishment managed to cram in fifty people; most of who were circled around and shouting at two men who were beating the shit out of one another. I was smart enough to know that the two Imperials weren’t the main event. I’d paid the cover to get into the Fighter’s Guild and had slowly nursed a few bottles of weak, piss-poor ale in order to see if the rumors I’d heard around Bravil were true. I’d been here only three days but I knew how to stay quiet and keep my ears open. Gambling with two-to-one odds wasn’t worth my coin and I was short on it for the plans I had.

I leaned over to the Altmer woman in fighting leathers next to me. “How many more matches until the final fight?”

She smirked at me before taking a swig of her flask. “Not a regular, huh?”

I smirked back. “That obvious, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes. “Main card is two fights away. Our guild usually doesn’t see this sort of crowd. That fire woman has everyone talking. But, hey, forty-to-one payout? Longshot odds but a nice fat purse of gold for those willing to believe a Breton can take on an Orc.”

A deafening shout roared and the crowd began to disperse. From my vantage point, I could see one of the men stumble out bloodied and bruised, happy gamblers patting him on the back and probably offering to buy him a round. The other man lay face down on the stone floor. A few people worked to drag him away, less out of kindness and more for the sake of getting the next round.

There would be a few minutes before the next fighters took the center but I hadn’t placed any bets there either. I waved my empty bottle and asked, “Any way I can step out for a bit and come back in without paying the cover again?”

She laughed. “Dunmer, you’re playing a losing game here. If your plans are to bet on the Breton, just know we here at the guild put her on the main card as a _joke_. But it’s your coin to lose.” Blowing on her index and middle finger, the Altmer then pressed them firmly to my wrist. A gold sword and the word _Fredas_ underneath it appeared. “Good for one hour, so don’t wander off too far, handsome.”

I rolled my eyes but grinned, thanking her. Behind me, a fresh wave of madness erupted as the announcer introduced the next pair of fighters—a Khajiit woman and Redguard man. The one flight up to the main floor held a few people lingering and chatting. I just wanted a stiff drink that didn’t taste like water. Since the guild hosted ten fights on Fredas night, the members also set up a small bar area where a local merchant marked up food and drink by at least thirty percent. The ale had been one Septim a piece but had done nothing for me. It would cost four gold for quality flin—worth it in my opinion. Surprisingly, the main floor seemed sparse. Only one person was at the bar and a few people were eating in cloistered corners. I sat one space away from the lone bar patron—a woman with wildfire for hair. She lay slumped over the bar with a drink in hand.

I ordered and paid for the flask of flin. Taking a small sip, I studied her out of the corner of my eye. She seemed taller than most Men I knew who were women. It was difficult to tell how well-trained her body was because she’d dressed herself head-to-toe in black fighting leathers. Around her legs and around her hips were belts and sheaths with daggers holstered—weapons she’d have to put aside during her fight. No weapons, no magic: these were the rules. Her face was hard to make out as she had it resting in the palm of one hand. _Fire woman_ was an apt moniker though. Her wild hair shimmered like the brightest of gold flames, licking against her dark armor.

Tribunal damn me, I couldn’t  _ believe _ I was placing my gold on a drunk Man. No doubt a Dunmer like myself approaching her would end up with her insulting me and my entire culture. But, I  _ did _ want to see if it was worth my time to throw fifty gold on her. That sort of stake— _ if  _ she won—would be more than enough to get me to Skyrim, to the Companions. I’d spent enough time as a wandering mercenary in southern Tamriel.

Without looking her way, I slowly asked, “You think being drunk is going to help you win?”

She didn’t look my way either before snapping back, “Why in Oblivion do _you_ care?” As if to emphasize her point, she threw back the flask of whatever she’d been drinking and then slammed it on the counter. “Tahm, my good sir, another round for me.”

The Imperial, Tahm, rolled his eyes and then advised, “Evelyn, don’t you think you should at least be _somewhat_ sober before getting your arse handed to you by Kurz?”

“I asked for more alcohol, not your opinion,” Evelyn spat and threw some gold at him. “Besides, I’m barely tipsy.”

I raised a brow but took the chance to glance at her face. Fairly plain, unmarked. She had pale eyes, a pale face, and a slightly upturned but small nose. Despite her fiery hair, everything else about her seemed extraordinarily boring. Then again, most Men all looked alike to me. Perhaps she actually looked interesting and attractive to _someone_ but I sure as Oblivion couldn’t see it.

As if she suddenly remembered, Evelyn turned to me looking wholly disinterested, “You just worried about your money or you interested in watching me lose a few teeth?”

“Can’t it be both?” I shrugged and then raised my brows. “You can’t _possibly_ believe you can win. Even a small Orc has got a hundred pounds on you, pure muscle. No magic and no weapons. You going to rip one of his fangs out?” I joked and took a drink.

Her laugh rang hollow throughout the main floor, loud enough to garner the attention of everyone around. “You wanna see that? You’ve got it, _elf_ ,” she shot at me.

And there it was: the beginning of the insults. I glared at her, anger beginning to burn cold in my veins. “ _Men_ ,” I snorted back. “Too cocky for their own good.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes and turned toward her drink. “You’ve no idea who I am.”

“I think you’ve got an ego too big for whatever skills you _think_ you have.”

Then, the woman tossed me a look that _almost_ froze my mouth: dark, hooded, and threatening. “Elf,  I’ll make you eat your words and then make you pay me personally for the insult.”

The _swit_. Who did she think she was, demanding _me_ to pay her? No question about it: she was plastered. Drunk or not, _no one_ talked to me like that. Now I knew who to bet on: the Orc. I cursed at her in Dunmeris before leaving my seat. “Enjoy swallowing your teeth, bitch,” I growled through a strained grin. I thanked the merchant and left.

Strangely, I _swore_ I could feel her ire in the wake of my absence. More than likely Evelyn was a strong mage but that was it. I wandered back down into the basement, one of the guild members checking my wrist before being allowed to return to watch the fights. I found the Khajiit man who was handling the bets for the evening.

“A quarter each-way on Kurz to win,” I placed the pouch of fifty Septims in his outstretched paw.

He weighed it and frowned. “A quarter each-way will cost you double, friend.” Before I could argue about the house rules, he offered, “But this one could offer you higher stakes. Currently, Qa’Dar has two to one odds that Kurz will knock the fire-haired woman out cold in the first five minutes.”

_Damn me_. Those were some good odds with the promise of a nice profit. One hundred gold on a quarter each-way stake on such a deal had me digging out my last pouch of fifty gold. I had only ten Septims left once I put down the one hundred, but there was no _way_ I could lose such a bet. And as cocky and drunk as she was? The Tribunal was practically _shouting_ at me that it would be a foolish thing to _not_ take this bet. That woman needed to be taken down a notch.

He took out a ledger and repeated the information I’d given him. “Endryn Sero, down for a quarter each way, Kurz Gamorn KO Evelyn Tyne, first five. Is this one correct?”

I nodded, pleased with myself. Watching her smug arse get beaten to a pulp would be an added bonus to the hefty profit I’d win. Even better, it seemed like the Khajiit’s house bet was _so_ attractive, it seemed like _everyone_ was taking it. If all worked out, I’d be walking out and ready to comfortably travel tomorrow morning. It’d take at least another month of mercenary work to earn that much coin, including living expenses.

The other two fights were just as boring as I expected them to be. Evelyn Tyne was nowhere in sight, probably still drinking. That thought made me even more sure in my decision. This wasn’t my first time gambling in Cyrodiil so I knew how much the guild was going to skim off the top of any winnings. The less time I spent in this place, the better. Bravil was a well-established shithole. Most of Skyrim would be miserable for me, but as a lifelong mercenary, the Companions would be a top-tier organization for me to settle down with. Among mercenaries, it was known for paying good coin for regular, steady work. The only downside was that they were located in Whiterun which now had Stormcloak protection thanks to Ulfric Stormcloak’s victory in their civil war a couple of years ago. Rumors had it that the current Harbinger couldn’t stand Ulfric so I was satisfied enough with the promise of not having to deal with too much bullshit.

It had suddenly become even more crowded. The main event was soon upon us. I squeezed between a few people to get a better view of the fighting circle. Kurz was standing on the far side, not even bothering to feign modesty. Even _he_ was confident that by the end of the night Evelyn would be eating stone and with fewer teeth. The guild member in charge of announcing the main event stood in the center, with his arms crossed and a foot tapping.

“Calling it one last time,” he shouted. “ _Evelyn Tyne, you’re up!_ ”

At that moment, the woman came strolling through the stairway and as she made her way to the circle, people parted without her having to ask. For the briefest of seconds, I began to question my bet. Watching her stride with no sense of urgency—and no sign of drunkenness—was disquieting. Everyone had suddenly gone quiet. Evelyn Tyne focused her eyes on one person: Kurz Gamorn. It became clear to me why she never argued with the title of fire woman; it was _not_ because of her hair but of the blazing and dangerous intent that seemed wholly out of place behind her light eyes. My blood ran cold. Even from where I stood, a dark and unrelenting force followed her. But when she finally stepped into the circle, weapons still on her, I felt better. What an utter fool, forgetting such a simple thing like disarming herself. All she had was a bit of presence, possibly a parlor trick to cover up how poorly skilled she was.

The announcer went up to her and, much too loudly to be a private conversation, explained, “Sweetheart, rules are you can’t bring any weapons or magic into the circle. I’ll take your blades now and, just for fun, we’ll check you for anything hidden.”

Evelyn seemed completely unbothered, shrugging and unsheathing her weapons. “Fine with me.” She spread her legs and arms as the announcer unabashedly groped her. I didn’t like her but before I could reach him to tell him to keep his hands to himself, he was finished. I felt a bit sorry for her being treated so cruelly. To my surprise, she didn’t curse or spit at him. In my short interaction with her, she seemed the type.

The guild member returned to the center and spoke to everyone in the basement, which was more crowded if that was even possible. “Distinguished guests!” He got a few laughs out of that greeting. If anyone of high birth _was_ here, they were in hiding. This sort of event was for the low-born. “Tonight, the Bravil Fighter’s Guild is pleased to be featuring what shall prove to be a _very_ eventful main event! Last call on bets because once I say start, all betting stops!” He walked over to Kurz and lifted his arm. “Allow me to introduce Kurz Gamorn!” The deafening roar shook the walls and ceilings. I didn’t join in. I wanted the match to start and then have the money in my pockets. I stood, arms crossed and my eyes on Evelyn. She looked bored, yawning and stretching her arms wide over her head.

The announcer laughed. “Calm down, calm down! Still have one more fighter to introduce!” At that, the crowd roared with laughter and the announcer made no attempt to stop it. Again, I didn’t join in. He went to grab her arm and she yanked it back. The crowd booed and hissed at her, but I couldn’t disagree with Evelyn’s actions. When the man groped her and no one said anything, did anything—myself included—she probably felt no need to interact with him any further.

“Well then!” the announcer exclaimed. “Evelyn Tyne seems to be a _bit_ of a cold bitch but let’s wish her the best of luck, right folks? She’s going to need it!”

And suddenly, I felt queasy about my decision. Running my hands through my short hair, I couldn’t help but feel pity for her. No doubt she was going to have her arse handed to her but she didn’t deserve this sort of humiliation and degradation. I watched her and, to my shock, she met my eyes and gave me a toothy, wicked grin. She pointed to her eyes and then to mine.

_She’s going to win_. The thought slammed against me and I had no idea where it came from. My stomach sank. Blessed Tribunal I’d made a mistake. A _big_ one. I’d grossly underestimated her because she was a _Man_ and now I was furiously trying to find the Khajiit to adjust my bet. I was the only one scrambling because no one else realized the game she was playing: arriving late, bringing in her weapons, allowing herself to be insulted… all smoke to distract from the danger she _actually_ posed. _Damn, damn, damn_. The announcer said some more things, but at the moment I found the Khajiit, betting closed.

“You’ve _got_ to let me change my bet!” I demanded. “They’ve only _just_ closed. It’s just one bet out of scores!” Better to not let him know keeping my current bet would leave me with only ten gold to my name.

He didn’t bother looking up from his ledger and his whiskers twitched a bit. “This one cannot change the rules. You placed your bet. But Qa’Dar wonders why the Dark Elf has had a sudden change of heart.”

“She’s going to win,” I stated flatly. I’d allowed my irritation with her cockiness cloud my judgement as a seasoned fighter. Evelyn Tyne was fire incarnate and she was going to burn through that Orc. _Fool, fool, fool._ I took _so_ much pride in my ability to assess fighters. How could I have missed it?

Qa’Dar glanced at me with his yellow eyes, inquisitive and suspicious. “Surely, you aren’t working with the Breton in order to cheat.”

“What?” I growled. “I don’t _know_ her. She’s a _Man_. I just made a mistake is all.” I began muttering curses under my breath.

His expression softened. Perhaps being Khajiit, he knew how unlikely it would be that a Dunmer who wore his culture plainly on his person would work with a Man. “This one feels pity on your stupidity.” I nearly punched him for that but held my anger. “I’ll split your odds, straight win, same bet.”

It was the best I was going to get. Let him think me simple. “Good enough.” I waited until he changed the numbers in the ledger. He turned the book upside down and I took the opportunity to check to see who else put their money in her favor. Only one name: Evelyn Tyne. Herself. _Of course_. Cocky Man. _Assuming she wins,_ a thought crept into my mind. Now I was worried I’d made a mistake. I groaned. Nothing to be done with it now. I was at least going to break even. No winnings but no losses either.

The shouts were unlike anything that had been leveled at the other women fighting. _Bitch_ , _cunt_ , and curses in other languages spewed out liberally. Evelyn seemed uninterested, she and Kurz circling one another and slowly feeling the other out. Kurz may have thought her weak but he still wasn’t going to rush at her. Rushing at someone, unarmed or not, was a fairly stupid idea unless one knew _for certain_ that the other person had nothing hiding up their sleeves.

Perhaps I wasn’t the only one who’d seen the fire behind Evelyn’s eyes.

The Orc took a confident step forward. Evelyn didn’t step back. She definitely wanted him to strike first, get him off-balance. She kept her wrapped fists up and ready to strike or block, but her footwork was sloppy. No sense of grace or certainty. I was certain she was a reckless fighter. How reckless? She wore her wild hair down, not tied back like a smart person. At any given moment, Kurz could reach out and rip her scalp off. But it was quite a sight, a Man so bold as to take this chance. And a  _ Breton  _ no less.

Kurz got tired of dancing around. He struck a hand out and, sure enough, grabbed a handful of her hair. She yelped and laughter filled the room. But instead of pulling away, she stumbled forward, closing the distance between them. And then she grabbed  _ him _ by his leather tunic—the ties loose and dangling—and slammed her forehead into his nose. He dropped her and snarled loudly. Blood rushed from his nose. She stumbled back a bit but seemed alright.

The crowd’s shouting suddenly became violent against Kurz.  _ Stop screwing around! She’s a goddamn joke, you cockshit!  _ The Orc ignored them. The Breton smiled wildly and outstretched her hand toward him, beckoning him forward.

“C’mon, Kurz!” she yelled. “I promised someone one of your fangs!” Her other hand remained closed at her side.

_ Oh, gods damn. Don’t bring  _ me _ into this _ , I pleaded silently to whichever god was listening. The  _ very  _ last thing I needed was this Orc after me, no matter if he lost or won. I was  _ not  _ in league with the woman. What a supreme  _ bitch  _ for making it seem otherwise. But she never looked at me, didn’t point me out. I relaxed.

Evelyn’s taunts only angered him. He rushed at her and she made no effort to step to avoid him. He slammed her to the ground with one hand and the crowd went wild. The muscles in his arm bulged as he pulled his fist back. He was going to pound her face in. I held my breath. Maybe I should have kept my original bet. But as the fist came crashing down, she caught it just in time and threw it back at him. The look of surprise on his face matched the shout of shock from the crowd.

_ What in Oblivion _ ? She  _ couldn’t  _ be that strong, that quick. My mind spun. Magic? But none was allowed and no one called a spell being prepped.

The Orc howling in pain broke me out of my confusion. Kurz had rolled over and was clutching his crotch. Evelyn was jumping up, one of her fists still balled at her side. The only explanation for the current events was a well-placed kick to Kurz’s balls. Well, she  _ did  _ have that advantage on her side.

My hand ran through my hair but I didn’t release my grip on it. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Evelyn Tyne had been drunk! She was a Breton! These fights were strictly a matter of strength and size, of which she seemed to have neither. The crowd became frantic now, a number of people rushing in droves to Qa’Dar because five minutes had passed and the Breton wasn’t out cold on the floor.

_ Damn me _ . She was circling him now, not even taking the opportunity to jump him as he scrambled to his feet.  _ She’s toying with him _ .  _ She knows everyone here has cast her aside as a joke and now she’s going to make them pay _ . Especially Kurz, it seemed.

But now, Kurz was being more cautious. Perhaps the kick in the balls was fighting dirty, but that made her dangerous. The Breton was the kind of reckless woman who was relentless, nothing was out of bounds for her. She was fighting to  _ win _ . This was a woman who’d seen real combat and not the pathetic farce these fights were. No doubt about it. And she was alive which meant she’d either ran a great deal from things that intended to kill her or she was hard to bring down.

Suddenly, the crowd became serious. The Khajiit was now screaming at people that all bets were final and to just watch the damned match. I let out a sigh of relief that I wasn’t going to be wiped out like some of these people. Everyone now begged and pleaded for Kurz to shape up, to beat her bloody and blue. Others focused on screaming at her, hoping to break down her confidence.

I stayed silent, my arms crossed and my breathing even. I’d spent decades tolerating similar sorts where my mother worked and she  _ always  _ complained at spectators who yelled for their own stake. She always advised me, “Endryn, dearest, the most competent fighters never feel the need to take their emotions out on others if they aren’t fighting. Everyone who screams is just full of shit. Either take the hits or shut up.”

The crowd yelled as Evelyn rushed to Kurz. He tried catching her, but her legs kicked him off—not unlike a wild animal—as she scaled him like a  _ tree _ and then wrapped her legs around his neck. But she didn’t bring him down. Instead she held on as the fist she’d kept clinched opened up and out dropped the leather tie that no one, including Kurz, noticed was missing from his tunic. Her other hand caught the dangling end. She wrapped it around one of his fangs.

My eyes widened.

And then she jumped, kicking off of his face.

The fang ripped out of its socket with a terrific  _ pop _ that  _ everyone  _ heard. Blood dribbled down Kurz’s face.

“You  _ bitch _ !” he screamed as he held his mouth, blood dripping between his fingers.

The crowd cheered but not in support of her. No. The Orc now had a missing fang and no story of glory to go along with it. Kurz would be out for blood. All of those bets that couldn’t be changed now had promise again. This crowd wanted him to tear her apart. She just looked around and met everyone with a wicked grin.

Did she… no, there was no possible way.  _ Was this a death wish _ ? What was  _ wrong  _ with this Man? I’d never seen someone so absolutely reckless. I thought Men had  _ some  _ sense of self-preservation but obviously I’d been mistaken after almost one hundred and fifty seasons of life. Maybe this is what my parents had warned me about—what Teldryn just didn’t quite seem to get yet—that the world would change around me and I wouldn’t notice it until one day, things seemed so fantastically  _ off  _ that I’d question my sanity.

Great. I’d make no money tonight  _ and  _ I’d discovered that I was now old. I felt a little guilty that I hadn’t written or visited my parents in so long. Time just went by so quickly once the visible aging stopped.

The two fighters were back to dancing around one another. This time, Evelyn now had her left fist wrapped around Kurz’s fang, as if she was holding a dagger. I had no idea if the rules covered this sort of situation. The only thing the rules stated was that no weapons were to be brought  _ into  _ the circle. Evelyn had made a weapon with something she’d acquired  _ within  _ the circle. No one was stopping her so I assumed it was allowed. Clever. And she was left-handed. That would give her an advantage—Kurz fought like he was right-handed.

“Kurz!” she laughed. “Thanks!” She held up his fang.

That’s all it took for him to come barreling at her. But he  _ hadn’t  _ paid attention to the fact she was left-handed; his rage was blinding him.  _ This  _ time she stepped to one side, grabbing him by the neck of his tunic and then  _ rammed  _ his own fang into his eye.

The crowd went silent. He howled in agony, his hands now gripping the fang he didn’t  _ dare  _ pull out of his eye. Evelyn smiled and strolled towards him. He stumbled back, screaming curses at her. And then  _ she _ pulled out the fang, part of Kurz’s eye still dangling from the sharp end.

The Breton held it up as the Orc writhed around, curled in on himself on the floor. Blood pooled around his face. In the wake of the silence, his whimpering wasn’t drowned out.

She looked around, one brow arched. “What? Have I not won yet or do I need to  _ kill  _ him?”

The announcer cautiously stepped near Kurz to examine him. Evelyn took her time scraping what was left of the Orc’s eye from the fang. Then she slipped it into one of the sheaths left empty on her belt. A few men were waved over to carry Kurz off to see a healer. No doubt this fight would be a shameful one for him that he’d never speak of. Evelyn waited patiently for the announcer to declare her victory.

This time, the guild member didn’t dare touch her. In fact, he kept his distance. “W-well then, guests. It, uh, seems we had a, um,  _ eventful  _ fight indeed. By unanimous decision, Evelyn Tyne is, uh, this evening’s winner.” There was no cheer or mirth as he muttered to her, “Congratulations.”

She bridged the gap between them. He flinched but didn’t move fast enough as she punched him in the gut. He fell to his knees. My heart stopped. There was no way in Oblivion that she  _ wouldn’t  _ remember me.

“Well, then!” She spread her arms wide. “I’m guessing all of you bastards owe me a few rounds! Don’t fret now; I don’t want to see  _ any  _ of you. I’ll just let Qa’Dar give me all of the money you fine people put against me. And,  _ please _ ,” her smile vanished. “Leave me alone.”

The fire flickered darkly behind her gaze as if waiting for  _ one  _ person to challenge her.

No one dared and she stalked off to the Khajiit, the crowds parting for her again. Evelyn would receive no argument from me. I wanted to stay as far away from her as possible.

We watched her collect fat pouches of money. She left like nothing had happened, didn’t even bother collecting her weapons. They lay unclaimed and tossed to one side as angry grumbling and fervent cursing filled the air. All the men and women here had been  _ certain  _ Evelyn would lose and now they felt cheated. Some people accepted the bad gamble and left. It was the last fight of the evening so why bother? But many  _ did  _ stay to argue with Qa’Dar. While they yelled at him, I took a moment to quietly collect the three daggers that, upon closer inspection, were of the poorest quality possible. I made sure no one was watching as I took all three and crammed them into a small pouch attached to my belt.

It took almost a whole hour for the basement to clear out. I wanted to get my money back from Qa’Dar with no audience. “Quite a match, yeah?” I attempted.

He snorted while laughing. “This one has made a  _ killing  _ tonight. Even after Qa’Dar pays the guild their due, this one will have enough to travel to Elsweyr and back again.” His paw slid a small pouch back to me: nothing lost, but nothing gained. “Clever elf,” he complimented. “Aside from you, only the woman bet on herself.”

“I noticed that.”

“Qa’Dar could not care less if you cheated since my pockets are fat. Congratulations.”

I didn’t bother arguing with him, that I  _ hadn’t  _ cheated. I’d gotten my gold back. It was late and all I wanted was to return to the inn I was currently staying in. This had been a complete waste of my time.

The Lonely Suitor Lodge was in the southernmost section of Bravil, a pathetic excuse for an inn with a name that hadn’t been changed since the Third Era. It was, quite frankly, embarrassing. I’d come in from Elsweyr a few days ago and this was the cheapest place in the city per day. Admittedly, most of my time since arriving had been in town looking for jobs and picking up rumors—which is where I’d heard the tip about Evelyn Tyne. So the inn never saw me until I came in for dinner and went to bed. I never ran into any of the other guests.

Which is why it surprised me when I opened the door to find, slumped against the bar surrounded by empty bottles, none other than the fire-haired woman, Evelyn Tyne.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New places, new faces! Hero, Event, Prophecy has teased a bit of callback to the Oblivion Crisis/Oblivion and we've spent a little time in Imperial City (Raven's Song) but now we're in Bravil. What an enchanting place with some interesting characters. This is the beginning of what Leading the Blind will be from now on. Relentless is about one person who is alone (only one POV). Rook of Skyrim is about two people and their complicated relationship (two POVs). Leading the Blind is about families, friends, and relying on others/a team (a small set of POVs).
> 
> I'm already working on the next LtB chapter. My life is a bit wild at the moment so I'm just writing as I feel inspired. I'm really sorry Relentless is behind (I've got half of the next chapter written). 
> 
> So, once again, thank you thank you THANK YOU to my lovely beta, praeeunt. She was magnificent with help and feedback for this chapter. Thanks to all of you who've read and commented on the last chapter since I've returned. Let me know what you think of Endryn (a character who we've heard a LOT about) and Evelyn (who we've heard NOTHING about)! Thanks for reading! -Ash


	11. Endryn

The woman I’d insulted and called a bitch was apparently a guest at The Lonely Suitor Lodge as well. A drunken one. One who’d almost killed an Orc with his own fang. I could easily slip past her and quickly leave Bravil tomorrow morning, but I’d made a mistake, treated her cruelly as well. An apology was in order.

I sat one seat away from her and asked the innkeeper, Brugo Gro-Galash, for a drink. While sipping quietly, I stole glances. Had she not moved to take another drink now and again, I would have thought her passed out.

Cautiously, I took the daggers from my pouch and slid them towards her. I didn’t meet her eyes. “You forgot these.”

Evelyn’s head swayed a bit, as if she was struggling to focus on what I was showing her. It took her a few minutes to respond, like she had no idea what I was talking about. “Oh, right,” she said. “Keep ‘em. They’re shit.” And she turned back to drinking.

Sighing, I tapped a finger impatiently on the counter. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

Evelyn’s wild hair was now gathered into a loose bun, stray tendrils licking the air as she studied me. I couldn’t help but notice her ears—distinctly  _ not  _ Man. A Breton with old blood running through her veins then. And just for a moment, something like shock crossed her face as if she thought I was someone else. As quickly as it came, it went. Her face fell back into its indifferent expression and her eyes glazed over. “Who’re you again?”

She was  _ definitely  _ drunk now, probably so well-preserved that she might actually live until the next Era.

“I’m the Dunmer from the Fighter’s Guild. The one who insulted you at the bar before your match. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior.” I held out my hand. “My name is—”

“I don’t care what your gods damned name is,” Evelyn interrupted. She held up one of her bottles.  “Let me drink in peace.”

My face curled in disgust. “I’m  _ trying  _ to apologize.”

“Don’t. Care.” She looked down into one of her bottles and frowned. “Brogo, Braggo—whatever your name is: more whisky. And some wine. Ale too. Also—”

“Cutting you off, Evelyn,” the Orc answered. “Go up to your room and sleep it off like you usually do.”

This drinking wasn’t because of the match. The woman was a drunkard. I politely offered out of sympathy, “Listen, I’ll help you upstairs if you—”

“ _ Mind your own damn business, elf _ ,” she hissed at me.

My anger flared but before I could yell at her in response, a pair of hands fell down on both of our shoulders.

“It’s  _ so  _ good to see you again, my dearest lady!” a cheerful voice greeted. Evelyn quickly sobered up upon seeing a Breton man in plain robes.

“ _ Oooooh  _ no, not  _ you _ again.” She didn’t seem too frantic about her friend’s appearance despite seeming displeased. “Gods.”

The man smiled and held out his hand toward me. “Sam Guevenne, nice to meet you!”

I took his hand but before I could give him my name, he began ordering a round of drinks. “It’s a night of celebration!” he proclaimed.

The Orc seemed a bit suspicious, especially having just cut Evelyn off, but complied nonetheless. He returned with a round of drinks.

“Drink up, drink up!” Sam urged me on. “You’ve got a  _ lot  _ of catching up to do!”

“I really don’t think—”

Evelyn just laughed. “C’mon, elf.” Then she reached for the fang still sheathed at her side and rolled it over to me. “Told you I’d get it for you. I’ll accept your apology if you drink up.”

Perhaps it was the guilt. Maybe I wanted to prove I could drink her under the table. Or it could have been something about her friend Sam—something about him was… different.

The night went black.

* * *

 

Something cool blew against my skin. Inhaling deeply, I realized that my face was nuzzled into the crook of someone’s bare shoulder. I was naked and my arm was snaked around the waist of an equally naked woman. Someone with a storm cloud of wild, dark hair loosely tied up, and a strange tattoo on her back that sat flush against her spine. All in all, a usually good position to find myself in, had she not also been a Man.

Tribunal damn me. I’d gotten too drunk and had slept with a _Man_. I cringed before turning my attention to my pounding headache. “Oh, _blessed Azura_ ,” I moaned. Another glance at the woman beside me and my stomach flipped again. “And hungover as shit,” I voiced to no one in particular.

Turning onto my back, I realized we were somewhere outdoors. It was either dawn or twilight but the weather was gorgeous. A slight breeze kissed my skin and I closed my eyes, hoping the coolness would ease my headache. The woman beside me stirred but barely. She muttered incoherently before reaching behind her, groping for something blindly. I wasn’t sure _what_ she was looking for but the moment her hand found my cock, I shot up despite the throbbing in my head.

“ _Oh,_ no you don’t.” I threw her hand off of me. “I don’t know _what_ happened last night, but it was a _mistake_.”

My sudden movements woke her enough that she groaned and tried sitting up. “Oh, sweet _Oblivion_. My head.” She was unsuccessful at sitting up, so she resigned to lying back down.

“You and me both,” I mumbled unhappily. Checking what I could, I searched my body for any tattoos that I might have been persuaded to get last night. Nothing to be found save for the swath of tattoos that ran the length of my upper right arm. No pain on my back or face so I assumed my facial tattoos were intact and that the woman’s own tattoo didn’t have a mate on my spine.

“Listen,” she muttered, her voice fading back into sleep. “Don’t know who you are and I don’t care. Give me the blankets and then get out of my room.”

This woman had no idea what happened either. That was troubling. Did she often take strangers into her bed while she was blindly drunk? I shuddered at what diseases I’d unwittingly exposed myself to. A trip to the alchemist to cure a possible venereal disease wasn’t in my budget.

But, as much as I _hated_ the thought of having bedded her, I wasn’t about to leave a defenseless woman at the mercy of the wilds. I shook her gently. “Hate to break it to you but we’re a bit a ways from your room. Unless you live outdoors.”

That got her attention. She shot up and then held her head. “Shit.” And then she turned to me. “Oh, it’s you, the guy from last night. What do you mean—” She looked around. “Oh. _Shit_.”

Well, she knew who I was. That was a start.

Whoever she was, this woman had seen combat or something worse. Across her left eye was a scar and another, smaller one chipped her upper lip. Her eyes were dark and rich. Her nose was sharp and strong, much like her. But most mesmerizing were a set of horrific scars that reached from her right shoulder to cover her left breast, a neat set of three lines that ran parallel to one another. Dark and sharp and scarred. But  _ something  _ seemed familiar about her. Strangely, a bruised rose sat tucked behind one of her ears--an ear that wasn't quite Man.

“What?” she snapped. “You act like you’ve never seen me before.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Maybe _you_ remember something about last night, but I can’t remember a gods damned thing.” Great. I’d bedded her _and_ I was the only one who blacked out. Probably best not to tell her that I wasn’t thrilled with sleeping with a Man. This sort of thing was fine for Teldryn. Not so much for the men and women I preferred in bed.

She made a number of displeased noises as she tried to unsuccessfully cover her nudity with her hands. “You think _I_ remember anything? Last time I drank with the Prince of Hedonism, I ended up naked in a temple.”

My head spun. What she was saying made no sense. “If _you_ blacked out, how in Oblivion do you know who _I_ am? I’ve never seen you before in my _life_.”

She covered her eyes with one hand as if suddenly realizing something. “Shit. Shit. _Shiiiit_.” The woman groaned and fell back down on the grass, giving up on modesty. “Plow me up the _arse_ , this is _not_ happening.”

Great. A mad woman at that. I ran my hand through my hair, frowning at how messy it felt. Attempting to relieve my headache, I gently rubbed my temples. I wasn’t going to waste another breath or moment trying to get her to explain what was going on. I was too old for this shit.

“Okay, listen,” she began, slowly sitting up. She reached up and found the flower resting in her hair. Now between her fingers, she studied it. “This is hard to explain but _I’m_ Evelyn Tyne.”

I stopped what I was doing and made the unfortunate decision to whip my head to gape at her. “ _What?_ ” But it wasn’t unbelievable. That wild hair, the intense stare, and that _feeling_ I couldn’t shake off. It was the sensation of a fire gone cold, last night’s flames now cool to the touch.

Evelyn made vague motions to herself. “Extremely expensive illusion spells. That are of no good in Oblivion _apparently_ ,” she groaned. “I dropped a fair bit of coin on the work the spellcaster said would be needed. I swear, if the spell isn’t back in place when we return to Nirn, I’m going to break that illusionist’s arm.”

I stared at her as she continued to complain about… whatever her concern was. I couldn’t move past the part she seemingly had no interest in. “Oblivion?” She arched a brow and her mouth pursed in confusion, as if my response made no sense. Evelyn held up the rose in her hand and nodded. My mind raced. “We’re in _Oblivion_?” I yelled, throwing my arms up in frustration. My head throbbed.

Evelyn held her head as well, wincing. “Keep your clothes on.”

My mouth went flat and I arched a brow.

She groaned. “You know what I meant.” Instead of explaining, she kept fiddling with the flower, tracing some of the thorns that climbed up the stem.

I snatched it from her, thorns and all. “Evelyn, we’re in Oblivion, for Azura’s sake. The realm of a god!” Her eyes darted to the ground and she frowned a bit. Studying her, it hit me. The Breton man last night. They knew each other and she had  _ not  _ been happy to see him. And the drinking. What had he called himself? Sam… something…

“Sam,” I said aloud before slowly asked her, “Guevenne? Which means… Sanguine.”

She nodded, an apologetic grimace on her face. Then she reached for the rose. I let her take it. “You’re more clever than most.” It wasn’t a compliment. “Welcome to the Myriad Realms of Revelry. I’ve no idea which sub-realm this is but we aren’t getting out of here until we find the Prince.”

My heart raced. Sanguine. Oblivion. Evelyn just sat there, staring at the rose and looking thoroughly bored. Had she no idea the situation we were in? Sanguine was part of neither the Reclamations nor Troubles but I knew of him and his worshippers. A Cult of Sanguine existed quietly somewhere in Blacklight and they never announced themselves in daylight. The light and dark side of passion incarnate--cheerful and bloody--Sanguine existed to indulge. Much like the excessive drinking last night. I glared at Evelyn.

“You did this to get back at me!” I hissed. “You  _ knew  _ that was Sanguine and you even told me you’d accept my apology if I drank with you two!”

She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Okay,  _ yes. _ But I didn’t know  _ both  _ of us would end up in this place.”

My fists clenched. I slowly growled, “If you had  _ known _ ?” I reached out and snatched her wrist. “And would you stop playing with that flower? We are out here--” I motioned around us, “--naked and lost! A god is out there and we’re in his realm!”

Evelyn snatched her wrist back and cursed. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed!” She was careful when slipping the rose back behind her ear. How she managed not to prick herself slightly amazed me. “You’re fine and as soon as we find Sanguine, he’ll allow us to leave. Easy as that.” She snapped her fingers and threw Candlelight above her. “This place isn’t controlled by him, surprisingly, but rather its visitors. Right now it’s pleasant, but a little light might be helpful in case we end up wandering into dark places. Literally.”

No point wasting my time yelling at her. If the only way out of here was to find the god, then we’d have to deal with one another until the time came. I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Against my better judgement, I stood up and held out a hand to her, extending an offer to help her off her feet. “So, I take it you know where to find Sanguine in this place?”

I expected her to slap my hand away and tell me to find another use for it. I thought she would as she opened her mouth. But then Evelyn met my eyes and--there it was again--a look of surprise, recognition flashing across her face. Her hand met mine and I pulled her up. “You act as if finding him will be  _ easy _ .”

“I get the distinct feeling anything is but when it involves you,” I drawled, looking down at our still connected hands. I didn’t realize that my body would welcome the warmth of her touch. As if she heard my thoughts, Evelyn snatched her hand back. I glared at her. “What? You’re too good to touch a Dunmer? I’m guessing you didn’t have a problem when we bedded one another.”

“Idiot,” she snapped. “We didn’t sleep with one another.”

“Oh?” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “I didn’t realize that waking up naked next to a complete stranger after a drunken night was wholly innocent.”

“We  _ didn’t  _ sleep with one another,” she asserted.

I threw my hands up. “I woke up with my cock pressed against your bare arse! Please,  _ tell me _ how you’ve come to that conclusion.”

Evelyn gave a short yell of frustration before screaming, “Because I don’t want to believe we did!”

_ What? _ My lip curled upward in disgust. “Oh. I  _ get  _ it.” I stomped past her and yelled behind me. “Can’t stand the idea of bedding a dirty elf, yeah? My  _ deepest  _ apologies that you had to--”

She choked out a sob and I froze. Slowly, I turned around. Evelyn stood there, naked and head bowed. Her arms laid crossed against her breasts--half holding herself and half trying to be modest. This wasn’t because I’d yelled at her. My anger cooled and I became distinctly aware of the torchbugs floating gently around us; the Candle above her had gone out. Soft shadows filled in the hollows of her joints. This didn’t seem like the type of woman who cried, yet, I was watching her quietly weep.

My brow furrowed. “Evelyn?” I whispered. My feet carried me close enough that I could reach out and hold her arm. “What’s wrong?”

She slapped me away. “Shove off,” she spat out with her voice wavering. “I don’t need some stranger’s pity.”

“Seems like you could use it,” I pointed out. “Or are you  _ not _ standing in Oblivion, naked and crying?”

It surprised me when she laughed. “Saying things like that are only going to make me cry harder.”

I crossed my arms and shifted my weight to one side, sighing. Evelyn knew what was going on; she and Sanguine knew one another. My presence here was simply her way of getting back at me for my behavior. So, as far as I knew, I wasn’t going anywhere without her. “Evelyn, listen--”

“Spare me.” She waved me off, her head no longer bowed and her tears seemingly forgotten. Her hands fiddled with some loose strands of hair that had fallen into her face, shoving them back into place. The bruised rose still sat nestled behind one ear. “I get it, alright? Stop crying and help get you out, yeah?” One of her palms dragged against her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “Besides, sooner we find Sanguine the sooner I find a drink.”

There wasn’t much more to say to that. I simply nodded. As she walked, I fell into step beside her. No reason to trust she wasn’t going to backstab me  _ if  _ we found Sanguine, but following her lead seemed to be a better option than waiting around, doing nothing. Not a word spoken between us, yet something still bothered me. My concern for her tears surprised me. The grass covered our feet in cold dew. While I let my arms swing freely, Evelyn continued to keep hers crossed against her chest.

She seemed content to keep silent so I waited a few minutes before asking, “Why the tears?”

Evelyn shot me a venomous look.

I rolled my eyes. “Well, damn me for asking.”

“I didn’t ask for you to.”

“And  _ I  _ didn’t ask to be trapped in Oblivion,” I snapped. “Yet here I am.”

She didn’t argue to my surprise.

The lighting shifted to a darker shade of twilight, a few stars beginning to blink brilliantly ahead of us. Evelyn had mentioned that this part of Oblivion would change based on its visitors, not its owner. I glanced around and noticed more trees around us. The leaves in this light seemed dark purple. Some of them were flowering with strange blooms. Was this my doing, hers, or a combination of both of us?

I stole a glance at her. She set her gaze straight ahead and kept walking, her arms still holding herself. Her hands rubbed against her arms vigorously. Now that my initial shock and anger had passed, I realized it was a bit chilly. Again, I wondered who was causing the temperature to be so disagreeable to two people with no clothes. Frowning, I considered my next words. Regardless of our current situation, I pitied her.

“Cold?” It seemed like a safe question.

She huffed in what I could only imagine was frustration. “Have you taken a vow to  _ never  _ stay silent?”

Why bother asking her anything? Every interaction with Evelyn was met with cold indifference, hostility, and rudeness. But there she was, shivering and teeth chattering. I rolled my eyes--mostly at myself--and then put my arm around her shoulders. She yelped in protest as I pulled her in close, both of us taking a few awkward steps before settling into a gait we could easily manage with her close against me. She didn’t fight. Just silence as she leaned against me. I rubbed her arm vigorously. As I did so, my arm scraped against hard tissue on her back. The strange tattoo against her spine  _ wasn’t  _ a tattoo--it was a horrific, black scar. Perhaps Evelyn was part of the Reachman of Skyrim; those Bretons were well-known for their grotesque forms of self-mutilation. Best not to ask. 

“Know how many kinds of fools there are in the world?” I asked, looking straight ahead. “Two: Men who are foolish and the Mer who suffer them.”

“Ha,” she scoffed. “You think yourself funny then?”

“I was being dead serious, you foolish woman. You’re cold. I’m getting there. Let’s just grit our teeth and suffer through this situation you’ve put us in.”

“I’ve been in  _ far  _ worse,” she laughed joylessly. “Are you so soft that you can’t take a bit of chill?”

The hand not around her combed through my short hair. “How about thanking me instead? Seems reasonable.”

“‘Reasonable’ would have been to leave me  _ alone _ ,” Evelyn grumbled. “Why did you bother me?”

I glanced down at her. She stood only half a head below me--tall enough that when my head turned slightly, I was able to smell the morning dew that had dried in her hair. The bruised rose lay slightly crushed between my chest and her ear. The thorns must have bothered her but she didn’t complain. “Gambling,” I explained. “I’d heard rumors about a Man crazy enough to take on an Orc in the guild’s late night fights. The kind where you go in with your muscle and not much else: no weapons, no proper armor, and no magic. So, I needed the money and wanted to see if you were worth betting on.”

Ahead of us, there seemed to be a dirt path rising from the mists. I squinted to be certain that, yes, there was a trail. It was lined with trees, thick with leaves and blooms. We didn’t discuss whether to take it or not. It was obvious that it was our only choice.

“And tell me, clever Mer, was I worth it?”

I cocked a brow at her. “You’ve got a wicked sense of humor.”

“My sense of humor died long ago. C’mon, tell me,” she urged. “Did you bet for or against?”

“Against but I changed what I could right after betting closed.”

She balked at the idea. “Liar.”

I squeezed her tighter, a bit more playfully than I intended. Men were infuriating but Evelyn seemed frustrating in a different way, one I could tolerate at least until we returned to Nirn. “Oh,  _ I’m  _ the liar? I still look the same, Lady Fire-Hair.”

In turn, her right hand reached up and lightly slapped my arm. “I tore out an orc’s fang; watch yourself, elf.”

“Uh-huh, I’m shaking in my boots.”

Our wet feet met with the dirt path. The trees around us cast dark purple and blue shades that creeped round us in the soft, warm breeze. Evelyn shifted and her arm moved--she threw a Candle above us. The shadows retreated, the spell illuminating both of us in harsh light. I felt our feet trip over one another and, as I looked down to right myself, noticed she was missing a toe on her left foot. I thought back to the way she walked through the crowd of the fight, how she carried herself as if she’d seen battle… or something worse. Her scar-ridden body gave evidence for that assessment.

“So, liar, why change your appearance?”

“The usual reasons: assassinated the emperor, running away from the gods, and in no mood to deal with ex-lovers.”

“And here I thought you said you have no sense of humor.”

“Like you, I’m dead serious.”

Instead of trying to pry the truth from her, I rolled my eyes and sighed. We continued onward. Time blurred in a haze of twilight fog and chill. Neither of us bothered speaking again. I gave a thought or two to Evelyn’s ridiculous answers and concluded that she changed her appearance because her real one would never be lauded as stunning. The magic that cloaked her didn’t make her so either but it certainly softened the sharp edges that might make other people flinch.

Evelyn stopped and I nearly tripped over myself. Before I could ask what was going on, she raised a finger to my lips to still them. With her other hand, she pointed at a pile of dirt just a few paces ahead. “We almost missed it.”

I released my arm from her as she slipped away. Raising a brow, I asked, “The dirt?”

Evelyn crouched down and reached for the rose tucked behind her ear. The thorns dragged out a few stray hairs from their place. “Something like that.” She began to hollow out the middle of the dirt. Once satisfied, she placed the stem in and covered it so that it’d stand on its own. “Sanguine likes to have fun. He’s probably enjoyed watching me try to figure this whole thing out, probably thought he was doing me a favor.”

What on  _ Nirn  _ was she going on about?

She stood up, took a step back. One finger tapped at her mouth, a few curious  _ hmm _ s escaping as she stared at the rose in the ground. Its petals hung limp and heavy from wear.

I crossed my arms and yawned. My hangover had receded but still lingered. “If you’re waiting for that thing to grow, good luck. Plants need roots, better light than this, water--”

Evelyn snapped her fingers. A void appeared and from it came a dagger that she swung around expertly before readying it to strike. A shame that conjuration had no spells for clothes; college mages were more concerned about esoteric research than practicality. “You  _ are  _ clever, elf.”

I tensed, my arms falling back to my sides with my fists balled. Evelyn Tyne was  _ not  _ helpless. Had I left her alone in this place, at any time she could have summoned weapons or something more from Oblivion. And now she had and I thought she might strike at me.

But she was just as good at reading my body as I’d been hers. “Oh, calm down. This isn’t for you.” She held her right palm out and with one quick strike, the dagger slashed through it; blood swelled fast and thick, collecting at the well of her palm. She made a fist, held it over the rose, and squeezed tightly. “What would Sanguine want with your blood anyway?”

I glared at her. “What?  _ Elf  _ blood?”

“Nothing personal,” was all she gave me. 

Tolerable or not, Evelyn was still a Man and all Men looked down upon the Mer in  _ some  _ way. A small measure still counted. No matter. I’d be free of her soon. A quick warm glow of a healing spell and her wound was gone. Her blood rolled off the leaves and petals of the rose, congealing into thick clumps against the dirt. Before either of us could argue further, a brilliant light exploded around us. I couldn’t see. I threw my hands out, trying to grab Evelyn, but they met with air. The world around me lurched in a blurry haze. The wind had been knocked from my lungs. But then my feet landed on grass. Someone bellowed in hearty laughter. A sweet scented floated… roses. That was it. Fresh roses.

And just as soon as it happened, we were standing together--still naked--in front of a small table. A lace tablecloth covered it and a tray of strange food was spread upon the tabletop. I studied Evelyn to find that she’d not changed from a moment ago. Dark, wild hair and scars now complete with a disapproving gaze set upon the table.

“I don’t even  _ want  _ to know what he’s hauled in from the dredges this time,” she complained.

“Agreed,” I immediately answered. Whatever was set out didn’t look appetizing. “He doesn’t expect us to  _ eat  _ this, does he?”

A pair of hands came down on our shoulders. “ _ Of course  _ not, sera!” Between us, a Breton man’s face appeared, grinning wildly. Sam Guevenne. Or rather, Sanguine.

I jumped and ordered my heart to stop beating wildly. Why I thought it would listen was beyond me. A Prince of Oblivion mere inches from my face and I expected my body to stay calm. Gods were not to be trifled with, no matter the plane they hailed from.

Evelyn, on the other hand, seemed annoyed more than anything. “Send us back,” she ordered. My mouth fell open at her audacity.

Sam chuckled and grabbed her arm, beckoning her to sit down. “What? You don’t like the snacks I picked out? Delicacies from Akavir.”

Both of us uttered noises of disgust. Legends told of Akavir being Oblivion on Nirn. Whatever Sanguine had was not going to taste good to either of us. 

“I just want to go  _ back _ , Sanguine.” Evelyn crossed her arms against her bare breasts again. “Or at least give me some clothes.”

I wanted to speak up and remind both of them I was here as well. I just couldn’t do as such as boldly. Instead, I gave a quick wave and mumbled, “Me as well.”

“Yes!” Sam gave me a slap on the back. “Thought she might enjoy you. Or you enjoy her. But, honestly, it was for her. Our sloe-eyed lady has been  _ so  _ dour as of late.”

I shot Evelyn a nasty glare and she answered with a venomous look on her face.

She then spat at Sam, “Tell me that I  _ didn’t  _ bed him.”

Her words held anger that I could barely touch but my anger was present all the same. Had I been taken as some sort of toy, drunk and out of my mind so that some Man could have her way with me? If that was the case, Evelyn seemed livid at the thought.

Sam reached over and pinched one of her cheeks. Her flesh turned bright and pink at the action. “Oh, you two are  _ no  _ fun. Bit of merriment here and there, all you want is to go back to that  _ dull  _ existence you’ve chosen to lead, m’dear. No matter how much encouragement I gave you two, you ended up weeping, crying,  _ sobbing _ . Don’t worry though--Dunmer held you ‘til you passed out. What a  _ bore _ ,” he yawned.

She slapped his hand away and I nearly fainted. Who  _ was  _ this woman that she dare strike a  _ god _ ? “Enough! Release us and leave me to my own life.”

As Evelyn argued, Sanguine obliged her by responding but he seemed more amused than anything else at her anger. I basked in the relief that I hadn't spent the evening with my cock deep in her. Sanguine pointed at me and I flinched, not sure if a spell would follow.

Instead, he simply said, “What was wrong with him, hmm? Tell me, Dunmer **,** you consider yourself to be handsome, good in bed?”

Heat burned quick from my neck to the tips of my ears. “ _ What _ ?”

I almost scowled at Evelyn until I noticed the look of utter embarrassment washed across her own face, flushed and sheepish. It hit me: she  _ hadn't  _ been disgusted with me because I was an elf. All of those moments where she looked at me as if something about my face reminded her of someone else weren't just my imagination. More than likely she was disgusted with herself for something that had nothing to do with me.

“Please, Sanguine,” she pleaded in a low and pitiful tone. It was as if a flood had suddenly extinguished the fight out of her. I'd never seen someone so defeated so quickly; she didn't seem like the type.

Sanguine snorted at her and waved his still-Breton hand. “So it's true: you've been reduced to  _ nothing.  _ Not even going to  _ shout  _ at me, eh?” He spit at her feet. “Now your death is the only thing I have to look forward to, when we get to fight over your soul.”

Evelyn opened her mouth as if she had planned on yelling at him but then closed it immediately. 

I'm not sure  _ what  _ came over me--perhaps it was because he appeared as a mere Man for the time being--but I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, held her against me, and yelled at a god with each word stumbling over the next. “How could you be so cruel? She's one of your followers and  _ this  _ is how you treat her? You might as well be… well, Molag Bal!” I swallowed. My nerves felt like fire. 

Sanguine blinked, stunned. Evelyn stared at me with an equal amount of confusion. And then he was doubled over in laughter, holding his stomach and crying.

“He's more entertaining than I thought he'd be--so serious!” Sanguine barked. “Mer, you were so  _ boring  _ last night talking about your travels and history and blah, blah, blah… I tried more than once to get you to kill someone! But noooooo, you were so staunch! Didn't know you had a humorous bone in your ashen-body.”

She was either too stunned to speak or had nothing to say.

He spun around into a chair, his form changing in an instant. Instead of a Man, he was now what I had expected of a god of Oblivion: dark, armored, horns… and a wicked grin embellished with rows of sharpened teeth. He grabbed one of the pieces of meat and talked through his chewing, “I didn't believe the rumors flying about in Oblivion--and you  _ know _ you can't trust Sheogorath--but it's true. Hermaeus Mora really did a number on you. Ah, well, bitter luck.”

It was my turn to be at a loss for words. This woman had more ties to the Daedra than I could have imagined. None of them good; once we were finished with her, I hoped never to see her again.

“If anything,” the god interrupted my thoughts, “It was  _ quite  _ amusing to see you in tears, dear. Helplessness looks  _ horrible  _ on you but it's so much fun to see you in such a state. Please, do get in touch when you decide to regrow your spine--or if you get worse and wish to spend the rest of your days in blissful revelry. I’d take either. Now then, be gone.” 

I blinked. The world around me had gone pitch black and I couldn't breathe, my head swimming. An eternity passed between what breaths I could take. And, just as soon as it had began, it ended.

Before me was Evelyn Tyne as I'd first seen her: red hair, plain face, no scars. Blessedly, we were both clothed in what we'd been wearing last night. We were in the middle of a forest, probably on the outskirts of Bravil judging by the smell of sewage and stale water. Both of us lay sitting in grass, a dull green compared to the lush colors of Sanguine’s realm. Unfortunately, traveling between planes destroyed what little relief I'd found with my hangover--the headache, the nausea, the sensitivity to light--all of it back in its full force.

She stood up first and held a hand out towards me. “Thought I'd return the favor.”

I almost brushed it away, not wanting anything to do with a woman who so wantonly tangled herself into the affairs of gods who wished mortals harm. She either had a death wish or was extremely stupid. Out of good faith, I took her hand and pulled myself up.

“I'd ask how you plan on apologizing for this little adventure, but I have the feeling that you aren't going to give it a second thought.”

Evelyn snorted. “Sanguine’s right; I'm boring now. Not even a day and you have the measure of me.”

My mouth went flat and I arched a brow. “I'm well over a century old. I know a thing or two.”

“Right. Elves. I forget how your type are.”

“What? Insufferable, intolerable, or indifferent?”

“Sure, perhaps, but I meant long-lived.”

Strangely, it was the nicest thing she'd said to me since we met. I wanted to part ways but first I had to know something. “Sanguine said something about your preference for Dunmer.” I counted off on my fingers my evidence for what I was about to claim. “At times you look at me as if you recognize me. Your tears in Oblivion after you thought we'd bedded one another. You've had your heart broken by a Dunmer.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide. “Come off of it,” she waved the assertion away. “What a foolish thing, broken hearts.”

I shrugged. “Liar,” I reasserted. “You can hide your face, your scars, lots of things… but you can't run from your feelings. Trust me: I've tried. Take it from someone who's older and wiser.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'd love to be running from my feelings,” she mumbled. “You don't know a damned thing about me. Let's be onto Bravil and agree to never speak to one another again. Better if we never see one another.”

There was just no talking to Evelyn. “Ever,” I agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, please thank praeeunt for being such a great and patient beta. This chapter needed lots of tlc and she gave it time and attention. Please, drop her a line or comment on her fics (which are also amazing!).
> 
> So, an update. I'm sorry for the delay. If you've been following me on tumblr, I apologize that this didn't update at the end of last year. Last October, I was in a serious car accident and have been in recovery. I start physical therapy next week--I'm hoping things will start looking up! Thank you all for your patience while this chapter got the care it needed (Rook had an especially corny line near the end that I'm not sure WHY I thought was a good idea. Thank praeeunt for pointing it out to me in my moment of lapsed judgement!). 
> 
> Well then, things certainly took an interesting route here. I'd love to hear what you guys think!
> 
> Thanks again for your patience and for reading! -Ash


	12. Sissel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a minute hasn't it? I've had a very wild time the last few months. I'm doing as well as I can but I'm happy to be able to get a new chapter out! I'm working on a new chapter of Relentless--as well as updating some other small things on AO3 that are just for fun.
> 
> If there's one person to thank for this chapter, it's my wonderful beta praeeunt (@nuwanders on Tumblr). At times, I was writing this chapter on buses while typing on my phone. Sometimes, the best I could do was cranking out one sentence while at work. While this got me to sixteen pages, it DID mean that portions got a little out of hand. Thank praeeunt for some professional-quality and stellar editing work.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think about the story so far! Thanks for reading! --Ash

        My teeth chattered. Winter’s cruelty came in different forms in the southern parts of Skyrim. Early this morning we’d left Falkreath, but there had only been chilled rain and wet ground. As we traveled south to the gate that separated Cyrodiil and Skyrim, thick and slushy snow fell steadily.

“Gods damned weather,” Teldryn grumbled. “Morning Star is Oblivion on Nirn.”

“Agreed. At least Windhelm was dry.” I rubbed my hands together. The wool mittens I’d bought were useless in the wet kind of snow. I silently thanked the gods for Teldryn--his advice about boots lined with sheep’s wool, thick trousers, and a thicker shirt was much wiser than a winter dress in this sort of climate.

He laughed weakly. “I’ve already complained about Winterhold, yes?”

I smiled in response. “Only a few times.”

Teldryn shook his head. “I still can't believe how carelessly the dead are buried in Falkreath. I can't imagine my body just rotting away like that, especially in this sort of dreary weather. The water never stops falling in this Hold--rain, snow, humidity. Water all around and bodies just sitting in the wet earth. Can you imagine that? The bloating and the smell--” My face lost all color and he noticed. “Right. Forgot you have a bit of a weak stomach.”

The road from Windhelm to Falkreath hadn’t been the most efficient of routes--which meant we had occasion for a few run-ins with a stray thief or bandit on the road. Teldryn showed no quarter to anyone brandishing a weapon at us. “If they’d wanted to stay alive, they’d stay out of our way,” is how he described it. I never threw up at the sight of blood but my mind never let me forget the way each of their eyes went glassy and unfocused. The idea of a rotting body though?

I stopped myself. Rot was the one thing I never could stand back home. The most I’d ever seen were dead chickens whose parts we couldn’t use tossed out in a pit a little outside of the village. Whenever it was my turn to dispose of leftover meals of chicken, I dreaded going out to the pit. The smell and the maggots… ugh.

“I wish we could have gone through the Rift,” I whined, an exaggeration of actual complaint.

He didn’t indulge my game. “Blame Rook.”

I sighed. A month ago we were in Windhelm. We’d met with Niranye but not without some complication. We knocked on the door of Rook’s house and the moment she opened it and spied Teldryn, she slammed it shut.

“What?” Teldryn had laughed. “Don’t tell me even the Altmer are afraid of despicable Dunmer.”

I’d bristled. I knew we needed to see Niranye but I’d never felt comfortable to even speak with her in the market.

“Mistress of the house is out on business,” her voice shouted through the other side of the door. “Come back never.”

But Teldryn wasn’t having any of it. We’d met with Aventus again concerning Rook’s housecarl. He had been somewhat helpful. He told us that Niranye had been under orders from Rook to keep an eye on him.

“Which means I’m stuck working here,” he’d grumbled. Apparently, Aventus had wanted to become part of the Dark Brotherhood and Rook forbade it. I couldn’t wrap my head around his disappointment.

Even more helpful was information about Niranye herself. She and Rook went back a few years but their relationship had begun strained. The Altmer had worked for a guild of thieves taking business away from the Thieves Guild proper and, as a member, Rook was asked to take care of them. Niranye had been spared only because she gave Rook information.

“From what I understand, my adoptive mother killed everyone else involved,” Aventus explained calmly over a goblet of wine. “She saw use in Niranye so Niranye lived.”

Luckily, Teldryn and I knew that Rook wanted the Thieves Guild to think her dead from Glover. Niranye knew her to be alive. “Come now, Niranye! We won’t bite!” Teldryn goaded, rapping on the door again. “Well, perhaps we will, but it certainly couldn’t compare to the wrath that would come down upon you if the Thieves Guild finds out you’re lying to them about Mistress Varine’s death!”

The door flung open and Niranye’s hand shot out, ushering us both in. “Get in!” she hissed. “Last thing I need is for Lady Varine to find out I’ve outed her. She’d cut off my hands for not being able to hold a secret.”

I’d learned a lot about Rook in a short amount of time.

Rook’s house in Windhelm was a marvel. Polished wood floors reflected my face back at me. A large dining table clear across the living area was completely set for eight people--silver plates, goblets, and cutlery under rich blue cloth napkins. On the walls hung weapons, mostly swords. But a lone staff sat amongst the shiny swords, just wood. At the end of the staff, a dragon’s head been carved. It was frozen in a permanent shout.

“Are the two of you going to tell me what you want or are you just going to drool all over the floor?” Niranye snapped.

I hadn’t noticed that Teldryn was also in awe, his gaze transfixed on the walls of weapons. “Uh, yes, we need to ask you about Lady Varine,” I was able to get out. Niranye glared at me. “Just, um, we’re looking for her,” I spilled out under the pressure of her gaze. I felt my face grow hot.

She scrunched her nose and squinted at us. “And _why_ on Nirn would you want to find her?” It looked like she was caught between wanting to be disgusted and amused. “You two must not know her very well to wish such a thing.”

Admittedly, I had panicked. Niranye made me nervous and Teldryn hadn’t said anything since we’d gone in. So, I grabbed his arm and blurted out, “They’re married!”

Teldryn shot the nastiest look at me. Niranye wasn’t even trying to look intimidating anymore, doubled-over in laughter. My stomach dropped. Not a good idea.

“You’re either lying or the biggest fool I’ve ever met!” she howled in laughter. Once she’d righted herself, she wiped tears from her eyes. “Although, for your sake, I hope you’re lying. You’ve no idea who you’re crawling into bed with.”

Although his mouth never moved from a scowl and his eyes stayed fixed on my own, he answered dryly, “What? An assassin and a thief?”

Niranye’s body went stiff.

It hadn’t been hard to get her to talk to us after that. She didn’t buy that Rook and Teldryn were married (to Teldryn’s relief). The mercenary concocted a better lie than mine to get Niranye’s cooperation. “She owes me coin. Lots of it.” The Altmer believed that with no further comments. We didn’t bother showing her the note but did explain that we’d already spoken with Aventus. She excused herself for a few moments, disappearing into a corridor far into the large home. Next came the sound of wood on wood along with a large groan from something heavy being moved out of place. Niranye was gone for a few minutes before returning. I had no idea what she’d been doing.

“Cyrodiil,” she proclaimed.

“Cyrodiil?” we asked in unison.

      Niranye nodded with certainty. “I’ve gone through all of her fake papers and the only ones gone are the ones that get her into Cyrodiil. And before you ask, I’ve no idea what name those papers are under.”

      But we hadn’t gone through the gates of Cyrodiil in the Rift because Niranye also suggested we take a trip to Whiterun. Although Rook had been gone unseen for over two years, the Altmer suggested we make the trip to see if could gain access to her home there.

      “It’d be stupid to keep all of one’s important forgeries in one place,” she commented.

      And while Teldryn agreed, there was the issue of money. Traveling wasn’t cheap, not to mention travelling long distances between two countries with two people. I didn’t have papers to cross any borders and Teldryn decided it would be best for both of us to travel under false identities--his own papers would be useless. We didn’t discuss the matter at length but his concerns about searching for the Dragonborn echoed Virk’s. He'd warned me about Maven Black-Briar but it seemed only natural that more people would take a dangerous interest in anyone searching for Rook. The cost of searching for a dangerous person, I supposed.

       With the costs adding up, Teldryn took a trip back to Blacklight to gather funds and I was left in Windhelm. I worked at the inn and did odd jobs for Aventus, trying my best to contribute to our pool of funds. It had been wholly lacking on my part compared to the mercenary’s. He explained that Rook paid well and left him a house which he’d sold--along with everything inside. I never realized how wealthy she was. She owned multiple homes and, if her home in Windhelm was any indication, they were all richly furnished. It turned my stomach to think that the coin might have come from assassinations.

        Niranye begrudgingly aided us with getting fake papers in order. Blackmail seemed to be getting us further than I expected. The only forger she knew lived in Riften. She advised us to not step into the city ourselves but that she had a courier who could be trusted. While Teldryn was still in Blacklight, I received our new papers which were housed in thin, leather folios. Ten thousand gold went further than I could have imagined. The folios were embossed with gold leaf and the papers inside made of vellum instead of cheap parchment. Even more surprising was the discovery that I was given a proper family name.

       “But only well-off folk worry about their family names,” I commented to Niranye.

        She gave me a puzzling look. “And only well-off folk need papers.”

        My new identity was Katla Honey-Hand from Solitude. When Teldryn returned, he was less than amused at his new name.

“Hort Nerothren?” he snorted. “And from Windhelm no less.”         

“Is that a…” I searched for the right words. I didn’t want to offend him. “Is Hort a, uh, common name?”

He arched an eyebrow at me. “Does Hort _sound_ like an attractive name?”

I had shrugged. “I just wasn’t sure if Hort was a name most Dunmer would want. You know, with a different language and culture and everything....” I just trailed off, my face hot.

Surprisingly, Teldryn chuckled. “Well, look at the Nord who’s becoming more sensitive. But, no, Hort sounds ridiculous. Think the haircut goes with it?” He rubbed his head. While in Morrowind, he’d cut his mohawk and decided to grow it out. Then it was just thick stubble. By the time we’d made our way to Whiterun, it had grown out a bit. But we had no luck with finding a safe way into Rook’s home there, as Niranye suggested. It was in a busy section of town and, even at night, patrols made it hard for Teldryn to feel confident that we could break into the place without being caught.

“Unless, of course, you’re a bit of a climber,” he’d grumbled. The trip to Whiterun had turned into an unnecessary one. “I’m not limber enough to scale a house like this.”

        So, that was how Katla and Hort found themselves traveling by feet in foul weather from Falkreath to Cyrodiil. Teldryn had offered to pay for a caravan but, much to his surprise and mine, I suggested we save the coin we’d wasted going to Whiterun. I didn’t mention it but I was also worried that any driver we’d get would be willing to talk for the right price about the young Nord woman and a Dunmer they’d delivered to the gates. Teldryn didn’t disagree.

         As he’d said: Blame Rook.

         It was hard not to with this mess falling around us. My boots sloshed through some mud. I looked over at Teldryn who was muttering something to himself that I couldn’t quite hear. I was too wet and too cold to ask what he was saying. I wished I’d bought two cloaks. To keep the packs on our backs dry, both of us kept our cloaks over them. Although woolen and lined with fur, both were just a bit too narrow to keep us and our packs covered. Then again, we’d made the foolish decision to see if Whiterun would hold anything useful for us.

         The snow didn’t hinder any visibility but I was still surprised to see the gates ahead of us. I suppose I expected something more… grand. Instead it was just a set of plain wooden gates built into the beginnings to the Jerall Mountains. It was tall enough to offer a covered walkway for patrols but not much wider than the gates of Whiterun. As we drew closer, I noticed a few soldiers patrolling along the walkway and two at the gate.

        “Who does the talking?” I asked Teldryn before we fully reached the gates.

         He didn’t answer for a moment, obviously mulling the situation over. “You are shit at lying.” I opened my mouth to protest but he started again. “But I don’t think we’ll need to be too convincing here. You’re a Nord and I’m a Dunmer from Windhelm. Not much to say except that we’re traveling. If they give us trouble, I can make up something sufficiently demeaning for myself.”

         I frowned. “You don’t think they’ll worry that I’m a young Nord woman and that we’re traveling on foot?”

“I don’t know,” he conceded and threw up his hands. “I’m a useless pack mule who gambled away our coin in Falkreath. Won’t take much to convince these soldiers a Dunmer is ruining things for a poor Nord.”

I hated hearing Teldryn say such things. Worse? I knew he was right. So, without much more conversation, we forged ahead toward the guards. It was hard to feel at ease knowing there was so much deceit casting a shadow on our actions. False names, false papers, false histories, false intentions…

        So much could go wrong.

        But nothing did.

        We were allowed to climb a set of rickety wooden stairs to the walkway where the snow wouldn't hinder our efforts to get to our packs. The guards mostly complained about the weather. If they spoke to us, it was always to me. Nothing of great importance but small talk such as the horrible weather and that the Pale Pass was looking much better than it had in years since the avalanche. I knew nothing about it so I nodded sympathetically and expressed feigned concerns over how hard their jobs probably were.

        While reading over Teldryn’s papers, they took a moment to laugh over his name. I could tell it was taking him some considerable willpower not to say anything. But, just as soon as it began, it was over. Two guards readied on each side pushed and pulled to open the doors.

        And then we were in Cyrodiil.

* * *

 

        The Pale Pass was a bit of a mess but nothing impossible to navigate. The snow had blessedly stopped. At one point, we stopped to eat a quick lunch and looked over a map we’d been able to purchase in Falkreath. It seemed like we'd make Burma before nightfall and, indeed, we did. I hadn't asked about vampires in Cyrodiil but Teldryn didn't seem concerned. There'd been rumors in Falkreath of the creatures running around but no actual sightings. Luckily, it seemed the vampire problem hadn't made its way down into the southern- or eastern-most parts of Skyrim. My hope was that the situation would stay that way until we could find Rook.

We made it to Bruma by nightfall. Snow still covered the ground but it was back to being dry and tolerable--no wind and no bite. I was a bit surprised to find that the local guards posted at the city wall still asked for our papers.

“We’re the Gatekeepers of Cyrodiil!” the young man announced proudly.

The older guard just rolled his eyes and yawned. “That and we’re close to Skyrim. Even though it’s been a few years since the civil war, Thalmor and Nords from Skyrim are still at it. We’re bound by the Imperial City’s orders--even if those orders come from elves.” He gave Teldryn a glance as he mentioned that last part.

Bruma itself seemed fairly large. While not equal to Whiterun or Windhelm, I’d probably still get easily lost the first few times I went out here. It didn’t help that everything looked the same with wood and granite providing the bulk of the materials all the buildings were made of. Even Castle Bruma seemed nothing more than a large barracks. The only way I could tell it was anything of note were the abundance of guards and golden yellow banners emblazoned with the city crest, an eagle or other large bird of sorts.

The most impressive building was a chapel near our inn. Jerral View Inn actually offered no view of the mountains, but the innkeeper said that the Great Chapel of Talos more than made up for it. I had to agree. We’d just settled into our separate rooms when I decided to take a walk outside. Although tired, I really needed a moment to myself. It was all too real now, us in Cyrodiil. Rorikstead seemed like a lifetime ago. Everything did.

I had to crane my neck so far back to view the entirety of the chapel that I got a bit dizzy. Snow gently fell against a backdrop of dark grey bricks. A brilliant flash of color illuminated the scene: a large circle of stained glass. I couldn’t make out the image from the ground. Wrapping the cloak tighter around myself, I climbed the steps to the large, wooden doors. They groaned as 

I pushed them open.

I forgot how to breathe.

What sun there was shone through the stained glass, bathing the chapel in a brilliant rainbow. The wooden benches that spanned the main floor all had intricate carvings on their sides. Vases filled with fresh flowers were set against each column. Behind the shining altar stood a statue of Talos—head held high, sword in hand. I slipped into a bench in the back. No one else was here, not even a priest. A cold and colorful chapel that had only one visitor: a scared and uncertain woman.

“Talos?” I whispered. My voice didn’t echo. Rorikstead didn’t have any devoted worshippers to Talos but gods were gods. I’d never prayed to him before but I needed something or someone to listen. Even if it was just a statue in the middle of an empty temple. “Do you speak to the others? To Kynareth? Do they listen to you?”

Talos looked forward and gave no answer except a blank stare.

I sighed. My breath came out in a thin cloud. “I’ve heard that you were also blessed with the Tongue of Dragons. The Dragon of the North,” my voice faltered a bit. “That’s what they call her too. Dragon of the North.”

Rook wasn’t her real name. No, her real name sounded too… _normal_. Elyrrya Ashwing. Or as Teldryn often called her, Elya. I wondered if Talos was the real name of the man standing at the center of the chapel. I’d heard a few different stories surrounding the mortal who became a god. If he even was one. I thought again back to a home where no one spoke of him. It had been almost half a year since I left. Did papa worry? Did Britte wonder where her twin was? I left no note and only Jouane knew of my plans.

I don’t know why but I ached to see my sister again. Even if it was just to hear her yell at me. But then yelling usually led to screaming and pinching and…

I shuddered. Why did I miss such people?

“This place would make Windhelm jealous,” Teldryn’s voice came from behind me. I flinched a bit and he apologized. “Thought you heard me come in.” He slipped in beside me.

Shaking my head, I cast my eyes down toward my hands. As my fingers tugged and pulled at one another, I said, “Thought you were going to rest at the inn?”

Teldryn shrugged but yawned and stretched his arms wide above his head. As he brought them down, one of them caught my shoulders and brought me into a brief hug. But after the squeeze, he kept a hold of me. I rested my head in the crook of his arm. “Too tired to sleep.”

“I know the feeling.” I closed my eyes and felt his head rest on top of mine. “Teldryn?”

“Hort,” he corrected. “Remember?”

I laughed. “ _Hort_ , do you think we’re doing the right thing?”

“Hmm?” From the sound of his voice, it seemed like we both had our eyes closed.

My fingers still fiddled with themselves even as I tried to rest. “You know, all of this?”

Teldryn lifted his head up and patted my shoulder. “You think that’s the right question?”

It was my turn to lift up from where I’d been resting. Frowning, I furrowed my brows. “What do you mean? I’m asking if we’re doing the right thing.”

“Sissel, my dear, we’re in Cyrodiil. It’s taken us a few months to get to this point.” He moved his hands behind his head and leaned back to stare at the altar. “Not to mention a few pieces of gold.” My hands stilled themselves as I gave him a playful slap. “You get my point though. We’re too far into this to be asking if we’re doing the ‘right’ thing.”

Sitting up, I turned to face him more. “But we could always just leave, return to our lives.”

He arched a brow. “Strange words coming from you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I spat out too quickly. Teldryn’s mouth went flat. “Okay, not _nothing_ nothing. Just…” I trailed off, not knowing how to finish the thought. How could I explain this feeling? The unexpected pang of homesickness. The enormity of our task closing back in on me. The realization that—aside from Niranye’s information about Cyrodiil—we were now completely without leads.

As if noticing my mind at work, Teldryn carefully began, “There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” I opened my mouth but he shook his head. “When we first met in Blacklight, you said some things.”

My face burned hot because I knew what he spoke of. The past few months, Teldryn would ask me safe and simple questions about my family. Never once did he mention the things that I never brought up again.

“You said that you never should have,” he glanced up at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “What was it now? Left the stupid farm and your family? That you should have been a better daughter?”

I could feel tears welling at the corners of my eye. I didn’t want to talk about this. Everything I’d poured out that night came flooding back to my memory. “I was just upset,” I whispered. “There was a lot going on.”

His index finger gently knocked my chin upwards. “I’m only asking because the hardest part hasn’t come upon us yet. And I need to know that my partner isn’t going to fall apart on me.” Then he shrugged and gave me a brilliant grin. “Also, I’ve gotten a little attached to you. You’re alright, I guess.”

I sniffed but couldn’t smile at his approval. Hearing him voice his concerns about me aloud made me lose my composure. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I croaked out. “I’m sorry and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Why did this happen to me? As long as we never brought it up, I was fine. The moment that Teldryn acknowledged things I’d rather forget, that’s when I couldn’t hold it together anymore. The past few months had been consumed by small goals that led to larger goals. Keeping my days filled with work kept my mind empty. With Rook at the center of our journey, Teldryn and I never had to talk about me.

But Teldryn was a patient person. He’d only brought it up now because I mentioned that something might be wrong. Instead of saying anything else, he wrapped his arms around my shoulders again to pull me to him. His other arm reached around to clasp his opposite hand to hold me. I held onto his arm and sobbed. My cries echoed in the empty chapel.

“Shh, shh,” Teldryn soothed. He rocked me back and forth. “I didn’t say anything was wrong with you.”

“But there is!” I was able to blubber out. The next time I sniffed, it was with thick mucus. “Sometimes I just can’t stop crying a-a-and… and—”

He didn’t stop holding or rocking me. “I know. I know. You don’t have to apologize. I don’t know what happened to you, but it wasn’t anything good.”

I cried harder. I’m was glad that we were the only two people here in this cold and colorful place.

“Girl, it’s alright.”

I shook my head. “I-I wish that—” I hiccupped. “I wasn’t so weak. I don’t want to cry every time I think about, a-a-about…” I couldn’t get the words out. I just cried harder. This wasn’t what I wanted. I was away from papa and Britte. Why was I so _weak_?

Teldryn stopped, took my shoulders, and kept his eyes locked on mine. I’d never seen him so serious. “Sissel of Rorikstead. You are _not_ weak. Far, _far_ from it.” He said something in Dunmeris.

“What?”

He explained. “Something my brother would always tell me when he won and I lost.” He repeated the words again but I couldn’t make out everything. Then he translated: “You aren’t weak if you cry.” At that memory, he gave a sad smile. “When I was young, I cried a lot when I lost. I thought losing meant that I wasn’t good enough, that I would never measure up to him or my mother or our name.”

I swallowed. “That, um, sounds awful.” But I noticed I had stopped crying. Still some hiccupping and sniffing but no more tears. I could only imagine what my face looked like.

Teldryn chuckled but he didn’t let go of me. “This isn’t about me but good try.”

A weak laugh escaped me.

“If I’d had the courage to face my fears, I could have been right on Rook’s heels over a year ago. Instead, I decided to run back home. Maybe wallow a little.” He thought for a moment before adding, “Not that Skyrim’s vampire problem was really on my mind.”

My head bowed down so that it rested against his shoulder. I felt a bit better.

“But you, Sissel, you did what no one else in Skyrim was willing to do. Not Ulfric, not any of the other jarls, not a single person who _should_ be responsible for keeping Skyrim safe. You know what everyone in Windhelm said.”

“That, um,” I whispered. “That Ulfric should do something about it since the Stormcloaks won the war.”

“And?”

“That Ulfric should be putting effort into looking for the Dragonborn.”

Teldryn leaned back a bit, forcing me to look up at him. “Now, I might be a stupid, no-account, lazy Dunmer but I’m fairly certain that no one in Skyrim—including Ulfric—is doing any of those things… except for one person.” He looked at me expectantly. “I wonder who that might be?”

Against my wishes, I felt a small smile betraying my sadness. “I haven’t the faintest.”

He tousled my hair, grinning widely. “Me either.” But then his grin softened. “But, in all seriousness, you aren’t weak. In fact, you’re the strongest person in Tamriel right now. Even stronger than the Dragonborn.”

I blinked up at him, my heart pounding. _What?_ My mind raced. _He’s just saying that to make me feel better_. But a small part of me wanted to believe him. _Stronger than the Dragonborn_? It was an impossible and unrealistic thought. Had Jouane ever said anything so…

Supportive? Kind?

“Sissel?” Teldryn’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “No jesting. If you ever need someone to talk to, don’t hesitate to ask me for an ear. Alright?”

My eyes turn to Talos, the silent Man whose gaze stared through the stained glass window. I hadn’t noticed, but the rainbow was fading. What sunlight there had been was waning. “Teldryn?”

“Hort,” he corrects but can’t keep a straight face. “Yes?”

“I don’t think Rook is in Bruma.”

This time, his gaze fell to Talos. He bent down so that his crossed arms could rest against the back of the bench in front of us. I wasn't good at reading his face or his body but, during our time together, we’d forged a silent agreement about what were acceptable conversation topics. I knew small details about Rook’s time on Solstheim. Teldryn had offered vague stories about their time together. But, just like I couldn’t bring myself to talk about some things, I knew that the closest he could bring himself to his own truth was that he “cared” about her. He was kind enough not to press me about my family; I was kind enough not to ask why he couldn't  just say he loved her.

“Smart girl,” he complimented. “No, she wouldn’t be so close to Skyrim.”

“No,” I agreed. “But I’ve no idea where to start looking in Cyrodiil.”

Teldryn _hmmed_. “Yes, and no guarantee that she’s stayed in Cyrodiil.” He sat back and studied the ceiling. “But, you know, wherever she is, I doubt she’s moving about. You should get out and see the world a bit while you’re out of Skyrim.”

I cocked my head. “What?”

“It’s been years since I lived in Cyrodiil, but the short time I _was_ here, I lived near Imperial City.” He nudged me. “Gorgeous place and nothing like it up north. That, and your fascination with the Dragonborn? Match made in the heavens.”

“In Imperial City?”

“ _Oooooh_ , yes, young lady.” A corner of Teldryn’s mouth quirked upward. “The city of Dragonborns.”

 


	13. Tristyn

_ My sister is alive. _

This was the thought that consumed me for the past year.

About two years ago, I had to visit my mentor, Neloth, on Solstheim. The locals of Raven Rock had never bothered me before; I’d lived on the island for years but never ventured far from Tel Mithryn. Neloth had hired help to run errands.

“You’re here to work, not make friends,” Neloth warned more than once. I was the adopted son of his third least favorite nephew  _ and  _ a Man. Needless to say, I lost a great deal of sleep those years. Raven Rock never saw much of me until about two years ago when I needed to make a last minute trip to ask my master a question concerning my research, only to find that all ships but one had stopped traveling to the place. Something was going on that spooked everyone. I had to travel all the way to Windhelm and then paid a pretty Septim to have the  _ Northern Maiden  _ deliver me to the island. By the time I got there, I was desperate for something to eat.

The Retching Netch had seemed quiet enough. But then I removed my hood and the barkeep looked at me as if I weren’t real. At first I thought it was because I spoke Dunmeris. But then he asked if I had family on the island. I was thoroughly confused, but said no. Then I went to meet Neloth, quickly dispatching ash spawn and smaller annoyances. I thought I’d heard a tremendous roar while traveling--something large and in the air. I ignored it. But then, Tel Mithryn offered me a stranger sight: Neloth’s lab completely ransacked and Daedric writings all over the place. He told me that he had an interesting specimen--someone who had read from and survived the knowledge of the  _ Oghma Infinium. _

Before I could ask my question, just something about the Nerevarine, Neloth ordered that I examine the writings myself.

“You’re kidding,” I half-laughed only to find him scowling. “You’re not.”

“If you’re worth  _ anything _ , you’ll be able to tell me why this person chose to take this knowledge that Hermaeus Mora offered.”

Ah, yes. Hermaeus Mora. Black Books and the sort had been Neloth’s pet project for the last two decades. My own research was on the Amulet of Kings but I’d stumbled onto a bit of a curiosity concerning souls and Heroes. So, both Elanande and Rilas suggested I ask Neloth about the Nerevarine--Hero of Morrowind and the reincarnation of the Nerevar.

But if I wanted to ask my questions, I’d have to help him with his work first. Typical.

The writings weren’t anything complicated. “Person’s either a thief or wants to be.” I shrugged. “What’s to untangle?”

He smacked me on the arm with the back of one hand. “Idiot. I can read.” He pointed to another set of papers. “She’s been to Apocrypha. She’s someone who is in need of a stronger magicka link, not a new trick to pick pockets.” He rolled his eyes. I glanced over the papers he motioned at. They were notes on his…  _ specimen _ ’s condition. Thumbing through, I’d found nothing terribly interesting aside from one note.

“You wrote ‘Apocryphal madness causes loss of control of natural functions.’ Like what? She can’t walk? Sees hallucinations?”

Neloth snatched the notes and pointed back to the Path of Shadows. “As if I cared about whatever Shouting she does.”

At the time I thought he just meant yelling.

So, I simply suggested that she must have chosen the Path of Shadows because her link to magic was already strong. “If she already uses magic, then perhaps she studied somewhere?”

It satisfied him. I was able to ask my questions about Neloth’s time with the Nerevarine. I left Solstheim. Until a few months later, about a year ago, when I had more to ask. But Raven Rock had changed. The island had changed. There  _ had  _ been dragons. I thought those were just mad Nord stories. Two names were floating around Raven Rock; everyone was thanking a man named Teldryn Sero for helping reopen the mines and a woman named Rook for stopping some madness that was causing everyone to build strange structures.

I never asked Neloth about it. I should have. But, instead, I was happier having my bit of doubt, that perhaps I was making something out of nothing.

I made excuses to visit Solstheim in the last year. I spoke with the owner of the Retching Netch--Geldis--and a few others around the settlement. Rook was a woman who looked much like me. Many believed her to be the Dragonborn, of Skyrim fame. More than one person hinted that something nasty had happened between her and Teldryn Sero. I even visited the Skaal. Their chief, Frea, wasn’t too open about her time with the woman named Rook. Something about the whole thing made her uneasy.

I hadn’t visited Solstheim in two months. Instead, I threw myself into extending my work into researching the Dragonborn. No one questioned the new avenue of research. All the emperors of Cyrodiil were known as Dragonborn. But traveling to Skyrim was impossible since the Stormcloaks were trying to keep the Altmer out of the land. They might have won the war but at the cost of a weakened province. 

Oh, and something about vampires.

No, Skyrim sounded like a fucking mess at the moment. A polite pass on doing on-site research for the time being. Books kept me satisfied. And preoccupied. The busier I kept, the less I had to think about the fact my sister was alive. Who else would look like me  _ and  _ use a nickname my father gave to his daughter? 

All this time I’d been  _ so  _ good at pretending I’d not left her for dead--worse:  _ hoping  _ she  _ had  _ died. If Elya was dead then there was nothing I could do except die with regrets about a poor decision I’d made at sixteen. No one would blame me for such a thing. But being past thirty seasons? It wasn’t as if I could tell anyone that I hadn’t found the time. No excuse save cowardice and selfishness.

I jumped at a knock at my door. My hands flew out, trying to catch my inkwell and quill that had been knocked over in the process of my fright. Quill saved, inkwell mostly salvaged--the stopper had flown off leaving a neat trail of dark splotches over one of my books. Damn.

“Tristyn?” Elanande’s melodic voice came through the other side. She opened the door a crack to peer in. “Are you busy?”

My eyes blurred at the piles of loose paper stuck in between books around my ever-shrinking work area. I raked my hands through my untameable, dark hair. Belwen cut it so it hit my chin but it continued to have a mind of its own. “No, just some extra reading. Everything alright?”

She wasn’t the type to step while walking. Rather she seemed to float in like a skilled dancer, her robes delicately traveling with her. “Rilas was planning on meeting a seller for a batch of moonsugar straight from Elsweyr. The university has been in short supply what with the new embargos the government has been placing. The alchemy labs have been complaining.” Walking closer to me, she reached out to brush a stray curl from my face. “But he’s been called to a last minute meeting.”

Poor Elanande. I took her last name because both she and Rilas had agreed that having some direct tie to an Altmer I could carry would benefit me in Cyrodiil. Given how aggressive the Dominion had become in the past two decades, it was a wise decision. But, being Altmer, it also meant she was often unable to volunteer for less than savory errands for the university--which didn’t happen often, but when it did, Rilas went. No one watched a Dunmer that closely; people would be watching Elanande. As an Altmer, most Imperials and others who lived in Imperial City would mark her, follow her. The capitol had mostly recovered from the Aldmeri Dominion’s invasion; I’d arrived in the city a decade after it happened so I’d never seen the worst of it. Buildings recovered, trust didn’t. An Altmer from the university was looked upon with suspicion even if their loyalty was to us and not the Dominion. I knew that some of the less trustworthy students spread rumors that she was Thalmor.

I modified my given name all on my own. No need to sound like I belonged in the Third Era.

I frowned and then reached out to gently squeeze her shoulder. “And you’d like me to go,” I softly finished her request. She nodded, fighting a frown. “It’s no bother, really.” I bent down to kiss her cheek and she hugged me in return.

“My dear boy.” She released me and then slipped something from her robe pocket. “You are a blessing. Would you mind picking up these items on your way? Just tea and some things for supper.”

“Of course, no problem.” She hugged me again before taking her leave, explaining she had an introductory alchemy class to teach. From what I understood, there was an Orsimer in this new cohort who was showing some real promise and Elanande was watching her closely. 

A journey to the heart of the city wouldn’t clear my head. As I journeyed to the market, my head began to fill with usual thoughts in the absence of distraction.  _ My sister is alive my sister is alive my sister is alive my sister is alive _ .

_ Of course _ I hadn’t told anyone. Of course I didn’t. That would be madness on a scale that would rival Sheogorath’s. What would I say? “Rilas. Elanande. Remember my sister that I never went back for? I know when I was younger I mentioned maybe going back to Skyrim but just never got around to it. Turns out, she’s alive! And I’m fairly certain she’s the Dragonborn! Yes,  _ that  _ Dragonborn. The one who helped Ulfric. And I think she’s involved with Hermaeus Mora. No need to worry about anything.”

No, I was quite satisfied to suffer in silence.  
  
My hands dug out the amulet that I kept tucked into my robes. No one ever questioned a mage who wore a necklace with a symbol dedicated to Julianos. My fingers twisted the amulet around and then made it dance in and out between them. _My mother is dead my father is dead my sister is alive_.

When I first came to live with Rilas and Elanande, it took a few weeks to adjust. I’d stayed in my room and cried until I couldn’t breathe.  _ My mother is dead my father is dead my sister is dead _ . As long as I repeated that phrase in my mind, it became a spell. It was something to change the world around me, give me a new reality. I whispered it to myself so much that the words blurred together  _ mymotherisdeadmyfatherisdeadmysisterisdead theyaredead theyaredead. _

_ Theyaredead _ became the words to a spell that I concocted so I could move on.

My sister resurrected herself by the sheer power of her will to live, my magic powerless against a such a force.

By the time I made it to the marketplace of Imperial City, it was late morning and practically everyone was out shopping for the day. I kept on a pleasant smile despite wanting to use a bit of magic to shove everyone to either side of me so I could walk. Over the years, I’d perfected Tristyn Larethal’s mask--a soft, warm smile and kind eyes coupled with an easy gait. Tristyn remembered everyone’s name even though I didn’t care about the butcher’s son or the spice merchant’s aunt. My mind was always too occupied with my work, my own life. Now especially. While the parchment dealer droned on about some personal problem, I nodded and smiled sympathetically. Inside I wished she’d shut up. What did  _ she _ know about problems?

It would be unfair to act as if Elya’s sudden reappearance was the cause for my inward thoughts. Usually they would be more occupied with groaning about how these merchants knew nothing of hard work and real skill--magic and my research caused many sleepless nights and unending stress. At least these people could go home at night when the markets closed. They always had the option of leaving their work at work. What did they know of true knowledge for knowledge’s sake? My work was driven by passion, not coin. I had chosen a  _ much  _ harder path; or, rather, a much harder path had chosen me.

“Master Larethal, can I get you anything else?” the parchment mistress asked.

“Oh, the college would discipline me if they found out I allowed someone to call me master,” I grinned wide, giving her some humor. “I’m barely past my second expert levels. Tristyn is fine.”

She laughed at the joke and patted my arm. I tensed but I maintained my smile and she didn’t notice. We waved farewell to one another and the moment I rounded a corner my body shivered and I tried rubbing off the feeling of her hand on my arm. 

Finished with the shopping list and too early to meet with Rilas’s moon sugar merchant, I decided to waste time near a quieter section of the city lined with speciality businesses with expensive wares and services. For weeks I window-shopped at three places, coveting a rare book from the Second Era concerning the killing of Grahkrindrog the dragon, an alchemy set made from salvaged Dwarven materials, and--the strangest item--a timepiece on a chain. The first time I saw it, I rushed in and requested the owner to show it to me. I thought for certain it would look like father’s old timepiece, the one Elya had taken, but inside were no Daedric symbols. It was just an expensive, circular timepiece with a cover and a chain. Still, I wanted it.

The last year or so, I’d been especially intent on standing at the window of the shop and staring at the watch, letting my sister overwhelm my thoughts. Once, the owner even came out to shoo me off and I apologized, giving her some story about research or something. She’d been awed by whatever I told her so much that she never bothered me again. I made sure to stand a bit further back since the encounter. The timepiece was an even fifteen hundred Septims; the owner explained it’d been owned by someone important in the Third Era. I could never find the person’s name; once I even decided to look them up, but with no extensive work. I didn’t care who owned it before.

No, I was simply a pathetic man who wanted a flimsy connection to his sister.

_ My sister is alive. _

Something broke the spell I’d put myself under. I felt watched. It wasn’t something passing but rather someone had been peering around a corner. I  _ knew  _ I’d seen something out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t turn my head but glanced in the direction. For certain, there was a flash of a young woman who popped out and then ducked back.

My first thought was that Elanande’s worries were well-placed. I hadn’t realized that things had gotten so bad around the capital that even someone like me would be under enough suspicion that I’d have someone follow me. 

I was going to make sure this person knew I wasn’t to be trifled with.

I rushed off in the opposite direction of my young tail. More than likely, she knew the city better than I so there would be no losing her unless I used a bit of magic. Making all sorts of mad turns, every now and then I checked to see if she was around. Not as if the task was hard--she would just scurry about in broad daylight at times, making no secret to her presence. If she  _ was  _ working for anyone, she’d be sorely punished for how poorly she performed. Once I felt certain that I’d lost her for a bit, I dug in deep and cast the strongest invisibility spell I could.

I hated casting outside of my brands. It wasn’t that I  _ couldn’t _ ; any mage could. Casting within brands was just easier so that’s what one did. I’d spent years studying and perfecting my enchanting and destruction. To use anything different just felt…  _ off _ . Even now, I knew the words and could make the motions but all of it felt foreign on my tongue, strange to my body. A bit uncomfortable, if I had to be honest. And, since I’d not kept up practice on my links to illusion magic, it strained my usually stalwart magicka connection. This spell wouldn’t last long; I had a good minute at the very least though. Time to see what the little skeever wanted from me.

The young woman finally reappeared from around a corner. She glanced around and ungracefully scrambled onto an old barrel to give herself a higher vantage. Finding no luck she hopped off, tripping forward as she landed, and ran back from where she came. I rushed after her. No need to be quiet with us heading back to a busier area.

She zig-zagged around, sometimes turning around and appearing quite confused. Perhaps she was new to her job? Eventually, she found her way back to the storefront I’d been when I first spotted her. A plainly dressed Dunmer now stood in front of the window, arms crossed and whistling. I stayed back a bit as the woman greeted him, surprisingly in Dunmeris.

Unfortunately for them, Rilas and Elanande made sure I knew more than Common. I was able to make out a little of what they were saying from the distance. It helped that the woman wasn’t fluent, so she still relied on Common when she got stuck.

“ _ I know I saw him _ ...,” she insisted before losing Dunmeris. “We went down this way and that, and then I lost him.”

“ _ Shocking _ ,” the man drawled. “ _ Almost like you _ \--” I couldn’t make out anything after that. Whatever it was caused him to laugh and her to cross her arms and pout.

“Te...Hort!” she whined. “ _ I tried _ .”

Te’Hort or whatever his name was seemed to be the one in charge but I couldn’t hear everything he said so I took a few cautious steps forward.

“Katla,  _ I’m fairly certain it’s just a coincidence _ ,” he glanced over at her such that he had to turn his head. He had a strong, sharp jawline and tattoos on his face. He ran his fingers through short, thick, messy black hair. She furrowed her brow. “Coincidence,” he translated for her. “One of those weird words you add the extra  _ ‘nah _ to.”

“ _ Coincidence _ ?” she practically spat out, the word now perfect with Te’Hort’s correction. She slipped back into Common, excitement overtaking her. “He looks  _ exactly  _ like her!”

My blood ran cold. Impossible.

I was going mad. Yes, that was it. I was hearing things. Or they were talking about something  _ completely  _ unrelated to my obsessive thoughts. “He” probably wasn’t me and, in the unlikely case that I  _ was _ , “her”  _ couldn’t  _ have meant--

_ Mysisterisalive _ .

The odds that these two strangers standing in front of me were just casually discussing whether or not I resembled my sister were practically absurd

I began to feel out of breath and dizzy. At first, I thought it was the madness getting to me until I realized what it was: link strain. I’d not felt discomfort like this in such a long time, that I’d forgotten what it was like to push one’s magicka link too far. With my back turned and my feet ready to  sprint off, I froze when the Dunmer snapped at the young woman, in Common so there would be no mistranslation:

“She doesn’t have a family. There’s no possible way.”

He stated it with such sad finality that I almost couldn’t rejoice realizing that it was simply madness on my part--completely unrelated to my sister.

Whoever they were talking about had no family. It had nothing to do with me.

_ Theyaredead _ .

* * *

 

Belwen sat at the supper table with us, complaining to Rilas as if I wasn’t across from her and dying of an attack of anxiety.

She was supposed to be out with her Bottom of the Barrel man; however, his name accurately described his nature. He’d sent a courier to cancel the evening with her.

“That  _ goblin _ !” she shrieked, stabbing a piece of meat. “He’s the one who asked  _ me  _ out and then  _ he  _ has the nerve to cancel on  _ me _ ! He had a lazy eye and limp hair, but I wasn’t going to judge him by appearances!”

Elanandre stopped eating to arch a brow and quirk her mouth.

“I wasn’t!” Belwen defended, her unused hand held to her heart and her whole body tilting back a tad. “Just because  _ I’m _ beautiful doesn’t mean I expect everyone else to live up to my standards.” She stuffed her fork into her mouth and swallowed the chunk quickly. “Except for Tristyn. Even though he’s modest, we all know he’s unnaturally handsome.”

I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. Staring into my wine, my mind refused to process anything but this afternoon. Every time someone bumped the table or laughed loudly, the thin ripples had me transfixed. Perhaps I could divine the truth about Te’Hort and Katla if I concentrated enough on the width between each dark line that hit the edge of the chalice or how large the center of each began. I needed magic that would show knowledge, clear fog and reveal the unknown. My stomach sank at the inevitable answer: clairvoyance.

I hated that spell. 

“Tristyn, my boy,” Rilas interrupted my thoughts. “Is everything alright?”

In my ruminations, I’d failed to notice that everyone had stopped eating and were now staring at me. Throwing my shoulders back, I sat a little straighter and cleared my throat. “Yes. Everything’s well. Just thinking about my research. Hit a snag this morning.”

Belwen curled one side of her lips, rolled her eyes, and snorted. “That ‘snag’ has been going on for  _ at least  _ a month, although I’m being generous.”

“What does  _ that _ mean?” I demanded. “I’m under some stress is all.”

Rilas shook his head and wagged his knife at me. “No, I think you’re right, Belwen,” he agreed, not even bothering to address me directly. “This mood of yours, Tristyn, has lingered for a bit of time now. How long would you guess, dear?”

I stared at Elana, wordlessly pleading for her to tell the two of them to leave me be. Instead, she furrowed her brows and frowned. “They’re right, darling. This morning you seemed distressed and when you came back this afternoon with the moon sugar you looked ready to fall apart. Your eyes have this faraway stare to them…” She looked off for a moment, her mouth pursed in thought. “Actually, this has been going on for quite some time.”

Groaning, I threw my hands up. “This is  _ nothing _ , I promise.”

Elana shook her head, “No, I remember last Old Life’s Festival almost a year ago.”

Belwen nearly shot up. “Oooooh, yes! I was wearing that  _ fantastic  _ necklace that my girlfriend at the time had bought me and we got into a  _ huge  _ fight over bringing Tristyn with us to go tavern hopping.”

Shit. I knew where this was going. Damn, damn,  _ damn _ . I buried my face into my palms.

Rilas slapped the table. “Yes! Every year you two go out, albeit with you dragging him out, but he  _ always  _ relents.”

“Even when I’m seeing someone!” Belwen grinned, showing off her slightly pointed and elongated canines--a mark of being a genuine Camoran, as she was always so proud to remind anyone who dared ask if she’d filed them. Camoran blood gave way to vicious, meat-eating teeth. Since Belwen’s family was a bastard branch, it was a bit watered down. “And  _ you  _ couldn’t be pried from your room that day!” She now stood, her arm outstretched and a finger pointing at me.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come off of it, Bell.” She  _ hated  _ both Bell and Winnie but I wasn’t about to risk my death just yet by chancing the latter. “This isn’t a mystery to be solved. I told practically everyone: I was  _ sick _ .”

“ _ I’m a healer! _ ” she practically yelled. “Who else would you have gone to?”

Rilas shot her a dirty look and her face fell as she dropped back into her seat, her eyes downcast. “Sorry,” she muttered. “But it’s true. It’s like ever since you started going back to Solstheim, you’ve not been the same.” She picked up her fork and poked at a piece of meat. “Like I’m not good enough to be around anymore.”

My heart broke. Before I left for my apprenticeship proper, we’d both been distraught at being separated. Then, after years, I returned and didn’t leave Cyrodiil again until two years ago when I had a question for Neloth about the Nerevarine. A stupid, stupid question I hadn’t even received a good answer to; instead, I’d received a horrific answer to a question I didn’t have the courage to ask.

_ Is my sister alive _ ?

_ Sheisdead sheisdead sheisdead,  _ was the new spell I’d made up on the spot to shut my mind up from the answer:  _ Yes _ . A simple word could undo any spell I made up, no matter my skill with magic or how hard I studied.  _ Yes _ could undo an era’s worth of work if I lived that long.

Instead of denying anything, I shoved my chair from the table and rushed off. None of them would run after me. It didn’t occur often but, when I  _ did _ give into my anger and stormed off, no one came after me. When I got to my room, I seriously debated leaving the university and staying at an inn. But that would give cause for rumors, worry, and more interrogation.

Instead, I locked myself in and formed a plan.

I’d end this madness tomorrow.

* * *

 

Clairvoyance reminded me of my mother. She used it for anything and everything, the spell so second nature to her that neither Elya nor I bothered hiding anything of consequence unless we wanted to see her anger. Once, Elya stole an invisibility potion to play with and, before she could drink it, our mother found it hidden in a hole in a tree. She took Elya aside. Father kept me with him, in the kitchen. I don’t know what happened but when they returned, Elya was white as a sheet and she had a haunted look in her eyes.

“Your mother was always good at playing tricks,” father whispered to me.

I never asked what he meant by that--I didn’t want to know. It was the last thing Elya ever tried to steal from our parents. Before they passed on anyway.

“Alright,” I braced myself. “Just remember to keep breathing and concentrate.” In my pockets, I carried small bottles of potion that would keep my magicka link strong while I was casting the spell. In front of me were two  _ very  _ large bottles of invisibility potion. Before the sun rose, I visited the university’s alchemy lab. As expected, I found a shelf full of various potions. With no one around to tell Rilas or Elana what I’d grabbed, I snatched what I needed and hoped they were well-made.

Although, now that I had the potions, I was seriously beginning to regret the decision. My stomach was going to rebel against the quantity of magical melange I planned on swigging down. But this was going to be hard enough as it was. I uncorked the first bottle and downed it, the nutty, slimy concoction sliding down my throat. I waited until I was outside before casting a clairvoyance spell.

The wispy blue line was thin at first, unsurprisingly heading back into the center part of the capital. I’d have been shocked to see it double back to Arcane University. The weather was nice, but I still felt myself getting winded and needing to take breaks from casting the spell. I’d use the time to drink more invisibility potion, emptying the first bottle. The second was tied to my belt by its neck. Sweat dripped down my forehead and the back of my neck. I’d already spent half a day following around a line I  _ thought  _ I could see clearly but it wasn’t as if the two people would stay still.

And what did I know about them? He was a Dunmer and she was a Man. The former seemed uninterested in humoring the idea that I was important--for whatever purpose--but he wasn’t altogether dismissive. He’d had patience with the girl, helping her with Dunmeris. The latter was inquisitive, headstrong; she’d been certain of my role in whatever game they played. Hopefully, it was enough knowledge on my part that the spell was following  _ them  _ and not a pair of random strangers.

Clairvoyance was dicey like that. Guiding lines that looped back in on themselves or lines that led to completely wrong goals were common mistakes--especially for those who didn’t use the spell often. Masters from the Illusion school placed the theory underlying clairvoyance as a match with the mysteries of the Elder Scrolls. There existed convincing books on the matter. Not that I’d ever read them but Rilas never disagreed with them.

Casting the spell for the fifth time, I was in wholehearted agreement. 

By late afternoon--after twelve casts, two bottles of invisibility potion, and two bottles of magicka potion--the two had stopped at the Tiber Septim Hotel in the Talos Plaza District. Gods, these two didn’t exactly scream subtle. The hotel overlooked the dragon statue that sat in the center of the district. After they’d--well,  _ we’d _ \--spent the day traversing the whole of Imperial City, I didn’t expect them to head west and then settle here.

I hid behind a corner, feeling the invisibility potion weakening. When it dissipated fully, I dropped to the ground and sat upright against a wall. I had half a bottle of potion and no idea what to do now. They’d gone into the hotel but I’d no idea when they might be out again today, if ever. My body battled between nausea and hunger. I’d eaten some fruit for breakfast and then a piece of cheese for lunch but the potions kept me from anything larger. I leaned my head back, taking in a deep breath.

The sun slid down the sky as I rested, deep oranges and reds saturating the shadows around the plaza. Supper would be soon and I needed to get home. I untied my hair from the messy bun I’d shoved together against the nape of my neck and redid the work. Didn’t need anyone asking why I looked like I’d been running around the city all day. I gave one last glance at the hotel.

Perhaps one last try, then quit for the day.

I cast the spell. It no longer led me to the hotel but to the dragon statue. Jumping to my feet, my hands scrambled for what was left of my potion and, as I raced, became invisible. There were more than a few people walking around but Katla swung around the columns circling the statue. Te’Hort rested on a bench, legs outstretched and arms behind his head. No one paid them any mind. I slowed my gait and took soft steps towards them.

“Are you going to let your hair grow out long?” Katla asked.

Te’Hort opened one eye and glanced over his shoulder. “Azura, no. Just keeping my whole head covered for colder weather. Solstheim is farther north than most of Skyrim but I don’t  _ live  _ in the colder parts. And Blacklight, well, you’ve been there. Doesn’t mean I’m going to grow it out. First chance I get, I’m shaving it back to how it was.”

Katla swung around one last time before plopping down beside him, tucking one leg underneath her such that her dress folded underneath. She pulled at it so that it came loose. I chanced walking right up behind them, just a few steps away.

She stared up at the sky, then sighed. “But we’ll just have to keep traveling south, won’t we?” It seemed that they were sticking with Common for now.

He nodded. “I think south is the first option. Cyrodiil’s a lot bigger than Skyrim, remember? So we’ll first follow Lake Rumare down. Look along the Upper Niban and then stop in Bravil, where Niban Bay is. I’d rather not go all the way down to Topol Bay only to have to travel  _ all  _ the way back north and then toward Kvatch or, gods help us, Anvil. We’ve got some coin but--”

“I’ll work if I need to,” Katla interrupted. “I wouldn’t mind spending more time here. The history here is fascinating.”

Te’Hort laughed, his voice deep and gravelly. “It’s only been two weeks but even  _ I _ doubt she’d want to hang her sword… here.”

“The Dragonborn… thing,” Katla finished. “I suppose she wouldn’t.” She bent over to pluck a tiny leaf from one of the lush bushes around the statue. Twirling it around between her index and thumb, she asked, “It’s strange, right, the way the emperors were also called Dragonborn up until Martin Septim’s sacrifice?” She paused for a moment. “And the way all emperors and Dragonborns were Septims.”

The Dunmer shook his head. “She probably knows something about it. There was a lot going on around Solstheim and the first Dragonborn.”

Saint Alessia, the first Dragonborn. A slave who rose up against the Ayleids and--

“--Alessia?” Katla interrupted my thoughts.

Te’Hort laughed again. “If what happened on the island is anything to be believed, it was a man named Miraak. Not her.”

What? What on  _ Nirn _ was this man talking about? I’d traced back the Amulet of Kings and followed its lineage extensively. Not  _ once  _ did the name “Miraak” ever cross my path. What foolish ideas was this man spouting.

The need to correct the matter was stronger than the desire for discretion. Banishing the invisibility was an easy spell--and a relief to enact. I took one step forward, completely visible now and directly behind them. “What utter nonsense, you fool. Alessia’s soul was bound to the amulet that was passed down to all who could rightfully rule.”

Katla shrieked. Te’Hort jumped a bit, spinning around and swearing something foul in Dunmeris. Then, Katla’s eyes went wide.

“It’s  _ you _ ,” she whispered. She grabbed the Dunmer’s arm and tugged a bit at his coat. “I  _ told  _ you I thought I heard something back in the Market District this morning, remember? After I ran into that woman?”

I knew what they were talking about. Katla had bumped into none other than one of the university’s masters and I’d made an embarrassing squeak. Katla apologized but then searched around her, as if she’d heard me. Lo and behold, she had.

I nodded. “And you were following me yesterday. Why?”

Both Katla and Te’Hort looked at one another, no words between them. The Dunmer cleared his throat. “Katla got it in her head that you were someone we might know. Or rather, you might know someone we know. But it’s a mistake. Apologies for the misunderstanding. We meant no harm.”

Instead of immediately answering, I studied Te’Hort’s facial tattoos. They were designed with one of his family members in mind, if my knowledge of Dunmer culture held, although which one I couldn’t be sure. He seemed fairly young, well, young for a Dunmer anyway. He’d mentioned Solstheim but I didn’t recognize him--not that I expected to. The connections were becoming much too strong now. The island was the birthplace of my sister’s rebirth for me.

Slowly, I began, “The person that you believe I know that you know…”

Te’Hort furrowed his brow. “Yes?”

Katla looked like she was holding her breath.

This was a line that could not be uncrossed. I knew this. The moment I spoke again, these two people would have the power to give me the answer to a question I was too cowardly to ask directly. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I closed my eyes, then swallowed. Taking a deep breath, my heart beat at a pace that made me feel nauseous. What would I do with their answer? If no, would my mind allow me to live in peace? Would it simply continue down the obsessive path that I’d been forced to travel down?

And if yes? Could I simply take it and go on with my life? I already knew the answer was no. What would I tell Rilas? Elana?

My heart sank. What would I tell Belwen? How would she react? Surely, she’d understand. But I couldn’t be certain. 

I felt faint as I opened my mouth again.

“Are you looking for Elyrrya Ashwing?”

A wordless yes was written plainly on both of their faces.

_ My sister is alive. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Thanks for your patience waiting for a new chapter. If you follow either my personal blog or my fanfiction blog, you'll know that I've hit a rough patch. I was finally able to find a job but now I have to work two jobs to stay afloat. On top of that, I'm working on an honest-to-goodness book series that I'm hoping to have published (at some point). It's very much in its infancy so I'm spending a lot of time on it. Of course, none of this would be possible without my wonderful and talented beta praeeunt. Without her, you'd be reading a hot mess! Tristyn is the last of the five POVs for LtB (Teldryn, Sissel, Endryn, Tristyn... and, of course, Rook) so no more new POVs now!
> 
> As usual, I love hearing your thoughts and I'm working on the next LtB chapter. Relentless is sitting on the backburner because I'm stretched thin; if I'm bored writing it, you guys will be bored reading it. There's a LOT of good stuff that'll happen in it (that's NOT rehashing of TESV: Skyrim's plot) but if I can't get into it, then I'm not gonna force it. As always, thanks for reading! I'm excited to see what you guys think! <3 Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first chapter of the end of the Hero, Event, Prophecy series. The beginning of the end as it were. Chapters for this story will simply switch between POVs. Right now, we're at Sissel's. I HIGHLY recommend reading Unfortunate Daughter before diving into this (you might notice the quote at the beginning of LtB is from that story).
> 
> We know one of the years Rook wasn't seen was spent on Solstheim... but where has she spent the other one? Sissel seems optimistic about her journey though so perhaps things will go well.
> 
> So, this story and Relentless will update together. How often? It's very hard to say at the moment with school and some medical issues cropping up. I'm going to do my very best for all of you, dear readers!  
> Thanks for reading! - Ash


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